


Star City 1946

by lostolicityscenes



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternative Universe - No Arrow, F/M, Film Noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8499517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostolicityscenes/pseuds/lostolicityscenes
Summary: Multi-chapter.  Arrow as a 40's Style Film Noir - will contain characters from Season 1 and 2 of Arrow.  Written in the Film Noir style (hopefully, not horribly)References to Oliver & Laurel's prior relationship, Merlance, Nyssara.My first attempt at a multi-chapter - hope you like it!





	1. The Femme Fatale

The rain hammered down on the dark streets of Star City, sheets like knives, cutting you with cold.  Oliver Queen raised the collar on his raincoat, tucking his head down into his neck for warmth.  He peered ahead as he briskly made his way through the crowds of people busy on missions of their own; lost in their own problems on this dark stormy night.  No one was paying attention to the tall gentleman striding down 52nd street, the rain beating down on his hat worn low on his brow, the stubble on his chin and red rimmed eyes the only tell-tale sign of late lonely nights.  As always, it was a woman keeping him up, just not his.

He’d spent the better part of the twilight hours, sitting in a car across the way from a sleazy five and dime, watching the windows for Mr. Howard Hayes.  And like most things, Hayes was disappointingly obvious.  Hayes was a two bit insurance salesman by day who was keeping company with his secretary on the sly.  And now, Oliver had the proof, photographic proof.

He was heading back to his office with just enough time to put on a fresh shirt, run a free hand through his hair, and slug some coffee down his throat before he had to spread those dirty pictures across his table for his client, Mrs. Hayes.

Ain’t love grand.

If you believed in that sort of thing; which he didn’t.  He’d been in enough cars over the years, looked into enough motel windows to know that love was just a dream.  Maybe he’d throw a splash of whiskey in that coffee while he was at it, some fortification for Mrs. Hayes inevitable tears.

Oliver climbed the steps of the nondescript building that housed his office.  It was a building like every other in the Glades, a little dirty, a little disreputable just like him, he scoffed to himself.  It suited him fine.  The smell of coffee and French fries drifted up from the Big Belly Diner that took up the entire bottom level of his building.  His stomach growled at him reminding him he hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning.  He thought about turning around and getting some grub, but first he needed to make sure these pictures got developed.

He walked down the dark hallway to the door at the end, the frosted glass with the faded lettering “Oliver Queen, Private Investigator” and pushed open the door. 

Home sweet home. 

Walking through the darkened entry, lit only by one solitary lamp, Oliver headed to the closed door of his office, he took off his hat and coat, throwing it over one of the chairs opposite his desk, carelessly.

Oliver slumped in the chair tired, staring vacantly at the wall before rubbing his hands over his jaw and eyes.

He heard her before he saw her.  The click clack of her heels, the smell of fresh flowers that seemed to follow her, spring in wintertime.

“You look like hell.”  She said.

Oliver lowered his hands, looked up at the woman standing at his door with arms crossed.  She was gorgeous, in that fresh-faced, just got off the bus from Hometown USA way.  She wore a black pencil skirt and a fitted blouse with polka dots, her shiny blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.  Her glasses perched on her nose.  Not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to pull those glasses from her face, pull her hair down from that ponytail, kiss that red pouty mouth.  His eyes traveled downward, looking where he couldn’t touch, skimming her curves, her long legs, all the way down to her black high heels, that currently were impatiently tapping the floor.

Get a hold of yourself Queen.

“Well aren’t you a charmer, Miss Smoak.”  He replied leaning back in his chair, putting on his breezy voice, the one that was his before…

“So, is Mr. Hayes a heel?”  Felicity asked, picking up his raincoat and fedora and hanging them up on the hooks by the door. 

“Certified Grade A Prime.”  Oliver reaches into his jacket, retrieves the film and holds it out to her.

Felicity shakes her head, taking the film, “Poor Mrs. Hayes.  Secretary?”

Oliver nods, “Why you getting ideas?”

Felicity smirks at him, “No, are you?”

Oliver nods at the film, “Get those developed.  Say, what time is the hapless Mrs. Hayes coming in?”

“11.” Felicity replies, she turns to leave, then arches an eyebrow at him, “enough time to clean up.”

Oliver smirks.  “Some ladies love the scruffy look,” he says, rubbing the five o’clock shadow on his jaw.

Felicity just smiles in return, saying sweetly, “You know what they say…”  She grabs the handle of his office door, preparing to shut it behind her, but pauses and turns, “love is blind.”

Oliver smirks, he’s always enjoyed their repartee, and a beautiful woman with a quick wit could be dangerous to the heart.  Before she can shut the door, Oliver calls her back, “Oh, Miss Smoak?”

Felicity stops and turns, which is a shame because he had been admiring her leaving, “Yes, Mr. Queen?”

“How about a cup of coffee?”

“Sounds divine, I take mine with milk,” She holds up two fingers, “two sugars.”  Felicity says pertly and shuts the office door.

Oliver grins at the closed door.  Wondering how that fiery temper translated in rooms other than private eye offices.

He pulls open the bottom drawer of his desk, grabs a freshly laundered and starched shirt, and changes into it.  Putting the rumpled jacket he walked in with back over it.  He stands in front of a mirror, tying the knot of his tie.  No time to shave, so he runs a comb through his hair, contemplates running downstairs to grab a quick coffee before his eleven o’clock.  He glances at his watch, he’s got a half hour, but he’s startled by a voice outside, Felicity’s protestation, followed by the quick approach of footsteps.

Oliver tenses, reaching for the gun he keeps in his inner pocket, the door flings open.  A woman enters the office, followed close behind by Felicity.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Queen.  I told her she needed an appointment!”

Oliver stands frozen staring at the woman.  She’s a tall skinny brunette, beautiful but with eyes wide and sad, glittering with intensity.  She’s dressed stylishly, in an expensive suit, a fur wrapped around her shoulders, a wide brimmed hat on her head, a short veil covering the top of her face.  But, he would recognize her anywhere, Laurel Lance, his ex.

“Ollie.”  Laurel says breathily.

Oliver glances over at Felicity, who’s eyeing the two of them suspiciously.  He knows he’s going to be interrogated after Laurel leaves, “okay, Miss Smoak.  Just let me know when Mrs. Hayes gets here.”  Felicity nods warily, giving another glance to Laurel.  Oliver can see her wheels turning trying to figure out who the mysterious lady is.

Once the door closes, Oliver turns back to Laurel.

“Have a seat,” he says gesturing to one of the chairs.  He rounds the desk opening a drawer and removing a bottle and two glasses.  Laurel sits primly on the edge of the chair, taking in the shabby surroundings without a word.  He pours out two fingers into one of the glasses and extends it toward her.  “Drink?”

She eyes the glass, her eyes flickering over the amber liquid, hesitating, but then she shakes her head, “No thanks.”

Oliver watches her closely, noticing the way she clutches her hands tightly, trying to still the small tremor.  She wants that drink, wants it bad, needs it.  Nervously, she opens her purse, pulls out a pack of cigarettes, removes one and lifts it to her lips.  Oliver extends his hand, flame already burning from the match he struck.  She glances at him through her lashes and then leans forward lighting the cigarette.  She takes a deep inhale and sits back, relaxing a little as she exhales a long plume of smoke.

“How did you find me?  I didn’t think you knew where I worked?”  Oliver asks a twisted smile on his lips.

Laurel eyes him coolly, “Your sister told me.”  Oliver arches a brow.  He didn’t know they still talked. 

“Is that right?”  Oliver perches on the edge of the desk and takes her measure, “What brings you to my neck of the woods; I can’t imagine this is a social call.”

“You’re right.  It’s not. “She replies smoothly.  Laurel looks down, delicately clearing her throat before continuing, “I want to hire you.”

Oliver rocks back, surprised.  He wasn’t sure what brought her back into his life after more than two years, but certainly not a case.  He caught the odd interesting case, but the bread and butter of his business were cheating spouses and he couldn’t believe that Laurel was here for that.  “Tommy?” he asks incredulously.

Her head whips up, for a moment alarm spreading across her features, but quickly she masks it, “No!  This has nothing to do with Tommy.  And I don’t want him to know that I’m here.”

Oliver smirks cynically, “In my experience keeping secrets from your husband is a slippery slope.”

Laurel glares at him defiantly, “You know how jealous he gets, if he knew I came to see you, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Which brings us back to our original question, what are you doing here?”

“It’s Sara.  She’s missing.”  Laurel’s eyes flicker slightly downward and Oliver wonders what she’s hiding.

“Missing?” Oliver echoes, “What makes you say that?”

“We were supposed to meet last night, she never showed.”

Oliver relaxes, “Maybe she forgot, you know how Sara is.”

Laurel shakes her head vehemently, her voice low and urgent, “No.  She wouldn’t have forgotten.  We were supposed to…go away for the weekend.  I went to meet her and I waited for hours and she never came.”

“Did you check the club?”

“Yes, of course I did.  I’m not stupid.” Laurel counters angrily.  “She left at her regular time 6 o’clock.”  Oliver opens his mouth to question her again, but she doggedly continues, “I went to the boarding house where she’s staying, talked to her roommate, she never went home.  We were supposed to meet at nine.  I’ve asked around, talked to her friends, no one’s seen her.”  Involuntarily, Laurel’s voice shakes a little at the end of her speech, and she bites her lip hard.

“Okay.  But you know as well as I do that might not mean anything.”  Oliver continues gently.  “Sara’s always been a free spirit.  For all we know, she may have fallen in with some friends and hopped a train for Central City spur of the moment.  You’ll see.  You’ll get a call from her, all apologetic, telling you how sorry she was for not calling sooner.”

Laurel stubs the cigarette out viciously into an ashtray on the desk, rising from the chair, she squares her shoulder, “I should’ve known I couldn’t count on your help.  Of course, you won’t take this seriously.  Silly Laurel worrying for nothing!  Well, I’m telling you, she’s missing!  Something’s wrong, I can feel it!”  Laurel’s voice has been steadily rising, as she slowly loses her composure.  Oliver reaches over and grabs her arm, she violently shakes him off.  “You don’t know what it took for me to come here.  After everything…I can see that it was pointless!” 

Laurel moves to the door, but Oliver is quicker, he heads her off blocking the doorway.  He looks down at her, silently weighing whether or not he wants to get involved.  Then, he leans back against the doorway, “All right Laurel.  I’ll check it out; see what I can find, for old time’s sake.”

Suddenly, Laurel is relaxed again.  Briefly, Oliver wonders if it all was an act just now.  She smiles at him, looking up at him through her eyelashes, “Thank you Ollie.”

Uncomfortable, Oliver slides open the door, trying to put some distance between them.  “I’ll let you know what I find.”

Laurel places a gloved hand on his chest, he flinches from the touch, familiarity, old feelings, and pain all wrapped into one, “Send a note, please be discreet, no one can know I was here.”

Oliver looks at her quizzically, “Why not?”  What will happen?”

“Please, Ollie.”

Oliver nods, a thin smile spreading across his lips, “you have my word.”  She nods, sweeping past Felicity who is sitting at her desk listening in with open curiosity.  Laurel walks out of the office, the door clicking shut behind her, the silence descends.

Felicity waits expectantly, but when no words are forthcoming, she shakes her head, saying, “Well, what was that all about?”

Oliver heads her off with a look, “Never mind.”  Oliver turns to head back into his office.

“Who was that?  She’s a real looker and she seemed to know you rather well…”  Felicity follows him in peppering him with questions.

Oliver shrugs his raincoat back on, “Drop it.”

“No.”

“Felicity.”  Oliver intones warningly.  He never calls her Felicity.  They stare each other down, she with hands on her hips.  Finally, he sighs in capitulation, “Her name’s Laurel Lance and she was an old flame.”

Felicity eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “No fooling?!  That’s Laurel…THE Laurel…” she mutters, “gorgeous Laurel.”

“You know her?”

“I read the society pages.  I didn’t know she and you were a thing.”

“It was a long time ago.”  Oliver drinks the last dregs from his cup.

“I read she’s hitched to Tommy Merlyn, doesn’t his family own half of Star City?”

“Probably,” Oliver smashes the hat on his head and strides past her out of his office.  She falls into step beside him.

“Say is that all you’re going to give me?  When did you two meet, how does Tommy Merlyn figure, what happened between you?”  She’s speaking fast, trying to get the words out before he leaves the office.  But, he’s studiously ignoring her.

“I’m going to run down a lead, I’ll be back.”  He says yanking the office door open.

“What about Mrs. Hayes?  She’ll be here any minute!”

“Reschedule.”  Oliver says as he disappears out the door.

“You’re no fun you know that.” She says with a pout, but Oliver is already out of earshot, and she’s speaking to an empty room.


	2. The City of Broken Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.

Verdant was the swankiest night club in Star City.  A who’s who of glitterati; celebrities, the rich, the infamous flocked through its doors every night.  Mob bosses and society dames rubbed elbows and the cops looked the other way.  And presiding over the whole place was Oliver’s sister, Thea Queen.

Oliver sauntered into the main room, the tiered area was filled with cozy booths, tables all arranged in a semicircle facing a stage, where right now, the band was assembled for their afternoon rehearsals.  Waiters moved efficiently around the room, setting up tables, getting ready for the rush of customers who would stream through the gilt doors after the sun went down.

Oliver walked over to the bar, stepping behind it to pour himself a drink.

“You paying for that, big brother?”  Thea approached quirking a smile at him.  Oliver smiled back.  His sister was one of his favorite people and he didn’t have many of those.  She was a smart cookie, tough with a low tolerance for nonsense.  You always knew where you stood with Thea Queen. 

“What do you think?”  Oliver tossed the drink back and Thea just rolled her eyes at him.

“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit to?”  Thea asked, “I know you didn’t miss me.”

“Laurel.”  Oliver narrows his eyes at Thea.  Wiggle out of this one, Speedy, he thinks.

“Oh.”  Thea raises her eyebrows.  “She went to see you I’m guessing, something about Sara.”

“She missed a meeting.”

One of the maître d walks over holding some papers for Thea to sign.  She shrugs, “I told her, Sara’s probably holed up somewhere, and she’ll show sooner or later, hopefully, in time for her next scheduled shift.”

“Laurel said she left here at 6?”  Oliver asks getting down to business.

“Yeah, she worked the tables.  She asked to leave early; it was a slow night so I said yes.”

“Do you know where she was headed, if she was meeting anybody?”

Thea shakes her head, “No.  I don’t ask, and they don’t tell.”

Disappointed at the dead end, Oliver just nods resignedly.  He changes the subject, “Why is Laurel so scared for Tommy to know that she asked me for help?”

Thea smirks at Oliver, “C’mon Ollie.  You know why.  He’s always had a sore spot about you, especially since the incident.”

Oliver ignores the dig, pushes it, “She seemed scared of him.  You don’t think—, “but he stops himself, not wanting to say what’s on his mind.

“Think what?”  She asks warily. “Think he’d do anything?”

Oliver looks down feeling guilty.

“Tommy and Laurel are a mess, but he wouldn’t hurt her.”  Thea narrows her eyes at Oliver, as he uncomfortably swallows the question on his lips.  

But she knows him too well and quickly adds, “Or Sara.”  Oliver looks longingly at the bottle of whiskey on the bar.  Thea continues, “Anyway, he was here last night, the whole night, entertaining a client.”

Oliver looks at Thea quizzically, “Alone?”

“No, they were joined by two broads--” Thea clears her throat, “…Not their old ladies.”

Oliver shakes his head; maybe he was wrong about Tommy.  “You mention that to Laurel when you talked to her?”

“What do you want from me, Ollie?”  Thea intones defensively, “He pays extra for a good table, he comes in two-three nights a week, drops a wad of dough on food and drink, and he’s a big tipper.  Who am I to get inside his marriage?  I’m just trying to run a business here.”

“Okay, don’t get excited Speedy.”  Oliver raises his hands in capitulation.  Thea was right; whatever was happening between Tommy and Laurel was none of his business and beside the point.  He had one job, to find Sara Lance.

“Thanks, sis.”  Oliver and Thea walk to the exit.

“Hey, don’t be such a stranger, wouldn’t kill you to show your ugly mug around here more often.” 

Oliver looks down at his sister affectionately, “knock it off will ya, don’t get soft on me now.”

Oliver walks out the door, places his hat back on his head, the brim helping to shield the sudden glare from the daylight.  A young woman stands off to the side, holding a cigarette.  Oliver nods at her.

“Hey mister, you got a light.”  She asks, waving the unlit cigarette.  Oliver walks over to her, lights her cigarette.  “I heard you asking about Sara Lance in there.” She says after exhaling.

“Yeah.”  Oliver regards her, “what’s that got to do with you?”

“I was here that night.  I stepped out for a smoke; I saw her talking to some guy, real swell in a tuxedo, looked like they were arguing.  I figured it was a lover’s spat.”

“You recognize the guy?”

The girl shook her head, “Sorry, honey, they were too far away.  But he was young, black hair, a real dreamboat, carried himself like he was a big shot.”

“Thanks, doll.” Oliver tips his hat.  He turns heading down the street, lost in thought.

* * *

 

So, Sara met up with a young guy with dark hair, a “dreamboat” – sounded a lot like Tommy Merlyn.  Oliver considered paying Tommy a visit, but decided to head over to the boarding house where Sara lived, see the roommate instead.

The building was a rundown ramshackle type of place, the type of place that most folks checked in “temporarily” but then never left.  Oliver rang the bell to Sara’s unit; a young woman opened the door.  She was beautiful, long dark hair, with large almond eyes.  Her eyes narrowed taking him in, “Can I help you?”

“Are you Margaret Wild?”

“That’s my stage name.”  She crosses her arms in front of herself defensively.

“Stage name huh, you’re in pictures…anything I’d know?”  Oliver smiles trying to put her at her ease so she’d talk.

Margaret relaxes a bit, smiling, “Bit parts mostly, I played a warrior princess in the League of Assassins.  Maybe you saw it.”

Oliver smirks and shakes his head no, “Sorry can’t say that I have.” He adds casually, “say, you’re roommates with Sara Lance?”

Margaret remembers herself, bristles with mistrust, “Who wants to know?”

“I’ve been hired to look into her disappearance.”

Margaret straightens, unable to mask the real fear in her eyes, “Did you find her?”

“Not yet.  Hoping you can shed some light.”

“I haven’t seen her since two nights ago.  We had a little argument…”  Oliver raises his eyebrows, what kind of argument, he wonders.

She immediately realizes how it sounds, quickly adding, “nothing important, just roommate stuff, a squabble really.  Anyway, she left for work the next morning, yesterday, and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Is there somewhere she could have gone last night instead of coming home?”

“How am I supposed to know, “Margaret retorts sharply, then takes a breath, “I told you I haven’t seen her.”  Margaret looks downward, adding bitterly, “Sara was a resourceful girl.”

“Did you know she was supposed to meet her sister, leave town for a few days?”

“She told me, but if she did, she didn’t take any of her things.  Her suitcase is still here next to ou-her bed.”

 “Thanks, say what do I call you anyway?”

“Nyssa.”

Oliver hands her a card, “If you think of anything else, Nyssa, call that number, you can tell the gal answering the phones.”

“Listen, there was one thing.  The night I saw her, she was real jumpy, scared almost, she wouldn’t say why.  But, I know her, and something had her real spooked.”  Nyssa clutches Oliver’s arm, intent, a slight tremor of fear in her voice, “You’ll let me know if you find her, tell her to call me, tell her I’m real worried about her.  I mean it, please, she’s not just my roommate, we’re real…” Nyssa’s eyes flicker to the side, a vulnerable hesitancy creeping into her voice, “…close, you know.” 

He did now.  Oliver pats her hand reassuringly, “Sure sweetheart.  I understand completely.”

Oliver contemplated the interaction as he headed back to the office.  The noisy city sounds fading away as he went over Sara’s movements from the last couple days.  Two nights ago, Sara was spooked about something, she headed home, got in a fight with her roommate, lover, he amended to himself.  The next day she went to work, left work at 6pm, had an argument with someone, and then what?

Oliver slows, as he approaches a newsstand, recognizing one of Starling City’s finest, Detective Quentin Lance, Laurel & Sara’s father.

“Detective Lance.”

Lance turns at the sound of his name, he must have recognized Oliver’s voice, because he’s already scowling, “What do you want, Queen?”

“Looking for Sara, you seen her?”

“No I haven’t.  And even if I had, you’re the last person I’d tell.”

There was no love lost between Lance and him.  Lance never approved of him, taken him in enough times during his wilder, youthful days mainly on minor infractions, drunk and disorderly.  And he definitely didn’t approve of his daughter dating Oliver back then.  Not that Oliver could blame him.  Before the war, Oliver ran wild with a loose crowd and spent more nights than he could count sleeping it off in a jail cell.  There was also the matter of his reputation with the dames…it was no secret Oliver strayed and often.  Well, at least no secret to anyone except Laurel.

Looking back, Oliver regretted it.  He was a young and stupid boy, but that was before the war.  Now Oliver felt a hundred years old and he had the scars to prove it.  If he had been green, he wasn’t now.  The war had taken that from him, stripped him down to his bones.

The man who returned from war had seen too much, been through too much and none of it good. 

He had been young and foolish when he volunteered at the early start of the war.  Laurel thought he looked dashing in uniform, so did a lot of dames.

By the time he found himself standing at the open bays of a B-19 parachuting behind enemy lines for Operation Neptune, otherwise known as D Day, he was a grizzled experienced soldier.  As he floated through the sky, bullets whizzing by his head, he thought, not for the first time, that he was a damn fool. 

He never could bring himself to go home on his R&R, afraid that his friends back home would see how much he had changed.  He wasn’t sure he could go back and talk about college football games and who was going steady with whom.  None of it seemed to matter very much, when every day, kids were getting blown to bits right next to him.

How was he supposed to explain the dreams or rather nightmares he had, the faces, the screaming, the blood, the fear of war.  He was afraid if he returned home, he’d lose his edge, his meanness, his feeling that he was already dead, just a zombie walking through a nightmare come to life. 

If he remembered back home, if he remembered the life he left behind, he’d lose whatever magic or luck had left him alive this long.  Better not to take the chance. 

He had plenty of distractions anyway, drink, friends, grateful Italian girls with an affinity for American soldiers…

“Hey Lance!  We gotta go!” the voice of Detective Lucas Hilton, brought Oliver jarringly back to the present.  Hilton was Lance’s partner.

“Look Lance, I really need to find Sara, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Lance looks about to relent, when Hilton cuts in again, “Lance!” 

“Let me tag along, I’ll ask you my questions on the way.”

Lance sighs, running a finger over his bald head, “Fine, get in the back, you remember how, right Queen?”

As Oliver gets in the back of the black-and-white, Hilton turns on the siren, eyeing Queen through the rearview mirror, he says, “What are we a taxi service now?”

“Cool down, where we headed anyway?”

“We caught another body, young & blonde, dumped in that empty field next to Sherwood Florist.”

Quentin gives a low whistle, “that makes the second one this month.”

“Yeah.”  Hilton replies grimly.

Oliver leans forward with interest, two dead girls in a month, why haven’t the papers been carrying this scoop?

“Two dead girls and not one word about it, what gives?”

Lance shrugs, “That’s above my pay grade.”

The cop car pulls up to a field, where several flatfoots stand around.  A man stands over the body of a naked young woman, a sheet draped over her for modesty.  The flash pops as he takes photographs. 

Lance walks over to the body with Hilton and Oliver.

“What do we got here, DiNozzo?”

“No id, no clothes, she was stabbed, whatever it was, it was big, bigger than a knife.”

“What’s bigger than a knife?” asks Hilton.

The other cop, Cooper, shrugs, “I don’t know, a sword.”

Hilton and Lance exchange a look, rolling their eyes.  Lance pulls up the sheet to take a look revealing a patch of blonde hair, and for a moment, Oliver’s heart stops.  But this girl is not Sara.

Lance puts the sheet back, careful to cover the girls face, “A real dish.”

DiNozzo nods, “that’s what I said, didn’t I Cooper?”

Cooper nods, “Maybe she’s an actress?”

DiNozzo rocks back on his heels, “It’s an old story; young girl gets off the bus from nowheresville, USA looking to be the next Veronica Lake.

“They don’t call it Star City for nothing,” Cooper interjects.

“Then they realize it ain’t that easy to make it big, starlets are a dime a dozen in this town.”  DiNozzo shakes his head.

“Are you two wise guys going to stand around flapping your lips all day?”  Quentin barks impatiently.  DiNozzo and Cooper straighten up, looking uncomfortable. “Or maybe you can do some actual police work?  You remember how right?  Canvas the neighbors, take down some witness statements unless you want to wax philosophical some more!”

“Sorry boss.”  Cooper pulls a notepad out of his pocket.

“We’ll get right on it.”  DiNozzo and Cooper move off quickly.

Lance turns to Hilton, exasperated, “See what I have to deal with?”  Hilton shakes his head in response.

Oliver follows DiNozzo and Cooper, pulling Cooper aside, he quietly asks, “Coop, do me a favor?  If you hear about another one of these bodies turning up, I want to know about it.”

“Sure thing.”  Oliver nods in thanks, turns back to Lance.

Lance steps away from the throng of cops and walks over to Oliver.  “Okay Queen what do you want to know?  Last time I saw Sara was a week ago.  We went to dinner at that little Chinese restaurant in the Glades.  She seemed fine.”

“Did she mention going out of town with Laurel?”

“No.  But, we did talk about her, Sara was worried.”

“Worried about Laurel?  Why?”

“That’s family business, as in none of yours.”

Oliver and Quentin face off, finally Lance relents, “Laurel’s not in a good place, she’s been drinking…a lot.”

Oliver looks down at the ground, remembering the tremor in her hand, when she came to see him.  “Thanks. “

Lance grabs his arm, “You tell Sara to call me when you find her.”  Oliver nods in agreement, then Lance levels him with an assessing stare, “And once you find her, stay away from my girls, they don’t need you back in their lives.”

Oliver grits back, “I’m just here to do my job, no more no less.”

* * *

 

Oliver pushes through the door of his office, “Any calls?”

Felicity jumps out of her chair, follows him into his office, “Mrs. Hayes called three times, and I don’t know how much longer I can stall her.”

“I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”  Oliver slumps in his chair, looking up at her, as she perches on the edge of his desk, her skirt rising to expose a creamy expanse of thigh. 

She doesn’t notice, thankfully, she’s leaning forward, eyeing him with a glint of curiosity.  Oliver feels like a bug under a microscope.  “How’d that lead work out?”  She asks in a nonchalant tone, but the intense gleam in her eyes counteracts her words.  She’s on a fishing expedition all right.

Oliver ignores the question, “Set it up with Mrs. Hayes for tomorrow afternoon.”

Felicity straightens, “Sure. Just as soon you spill your guts.”

“Miss Smoak.”  Oliver’s voice holds a note of warning. 

“Mr. Queen.”  Felicity replies stubbornly, raising an eyebrow.

For a moment, the room descends into quiet, while the two engage in a silent war of wills.  Finally, Oliver pushes out a breath; she’s not going to let it go, if he knows her. 

“You’re a real pain in the neck,” he says grouchily waving at the chair across from him.  Felicity sits with a small smile of victory, primly smoothing her skirt and looking at him expectantly.

“Laurel’s an old friend,” Felicity scoffs lightly and Oliver amends, “old flame.  She was planning a weekend trip with her sister Sara, but Sara never showed.  Sara’s a little flaky but she wouldn’t have ditched Laurel without calling.”

“What’s eating you?”  Felicity asks quietly.

“I’m trying to retrace her steps.  Something spooked her a couple days before she went missing, according to her roommate.  The next day she went to work, left early, had an argument with someone, I think maybe her brother in law, and then I don’t know.”

“What do you think spooked her?”

“I’m not sure, she didn’t say.”

“So now what?” 

“I’m going to go talk to Tommy, Laurel’s husband.  If I’m right, he’s the last person who saw her.”

“Do you think he’s involved?”

Oliver sighs wearily, “I hope not.  Tommy was a friend, and I have hard time believing he could hurt her, but…”

“People change.”  Felicity finishes softly.

“Sometimes not for the better,” Oliver adds grimly. 

Felicity looks at him closely, piercing him with her eyes.  She has this uncanny ability to make him feel like she can see right into his black soul; it makes him feel exposed and uncomfortable.  Oliver clears his throat.

The phone rings and Felicity rises and reaches across his desk to answer it.

“Queen Investigations.”  She answers crisply.  She covers the mouth of the phone with one hand, mouthing quietly, “Detective Cooper.”

Oliver takes the phone, “yeah.”  Felicity watches Oliver closely as he listens to Cooper on the other end.  Slowly he puts the phone back down, he swallows hard.

“What happened?”  Felicity asks alarm bells ringing in her head.

“Another body turned up.”

“Another?”  She asks in surprise.

“Yeah, third one this month.”

“Is it?”  Felicity stops, the hairs rising on the back of her neck.  But she knows the answer before he speaks.  She can tell just by looking at him.

“It’s Sara.”  He says flatly, his face pale.


	3. Water under the bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little backstory

The Merlyn house was a large baroque mansion, all stone on the outside and dark wood inside.  It was in the tony part of town, surrounded by similar gated estates of the Starling City elite.  The neighborhood stunk of old money.  But the Merlyns were outsiders.  Malcolm Merlyn was a self-made man, part of the new money breed that had made their fortunes during the war.  And society wasn’t going to let him forget that he didn’t belong.  Oliver knocked on the ornate door and waited.  A woman in uniform answered and let him inside.  He stood in the large foyer taking in the gaudy ostentatious décor.  The house was dark, the curtains filtering the sunlight, the air oppressive.  The house felt shut in, it needed a good airing out to stem the fetid stale air that hung thick about him.

He wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave.

“Ollie.”  The voice came floating down, disembodied and ghostly.

Oliver looked up following the curved line of the stairs ascending upward to the second story landing.  Standing at the bannister, Laurel Lance looked down at him.

She was a sight.  Dressed in a long cream satin robe loosely belted over a lace topped nightdress, her hair loosely disheveled.  She haltingly and carefully picked her way down the stairs and he realized she held a crystal glass in one hand, an amber liquid dangerously close to sloshing out with each lurching movement.

She was completely soused.

“What brings you by, Ollie?”  She says the words slowly, her voice thick and slurring.

She steps in closely and he is overwhelmed by the scent of her expensive musky perfume coupled with the distinct smell of whiskey.  She tips her head back, swaying unsteadily, her pupils wide and unfocused, and her mouth slightly open.

“I heard about Sara.”  He says quietly.

Laurel rears back a little, as if slapped.  She twirls around, too quickly and for a moment he thinks she will fall, but somehow she rights herself and crosses to a nearby table, setting down her drink with a thunk and pulling a cigarette out of a silver case, lighting it with a flourish.

 “My sister’s dead and suddenly you’re concerned over my well-being?  Don’t worry Ollie, you’ll still get paid.”  She spits the words.

“You’re drunk Laurel.”  Oliver says, the quiet fury of his voice, echoing in the room.

Laurel tosses her hair back, lifting her chin defiantly, “So what if I am?  I think today of all days I’m allowed.  Anyway, what’s it to you?  You don’t know a damn thing about my life.”

“Whose fault is that?”  Oliver retorts before he can stop himself, the old anger simmering up again.

“Don’t you dare throw that old business in my face!  Don’t you think it’s time _you_ moved on?”  Laurel angrily stalks toward him.

“You would know, you’re the expert,” Oliver replies bitterly.

“Meaning?”  Laurel shoots back.

“Never mind, that’s water under the bridge.”

But, Laurel starts agitatedly pacing, her words tripping and rushing over each other, “I loved you!  I waited for you for years, even when everybody told me to move on I didn’t.  I wrote you letter after letter, but not one, NOT ONE word from you, in 2 years, not one letter.  Everybody thought I was a fool, you didn’t think I knew about all the other girls you stepped out with?  I knew, but I didn’t care, I would’ve waited for you.”

“But you didn’t.”  Oliver says tiredly.

“I was there, with your mother, when the Western Union man came with the telegram.  ‘Oliver Queen is missing in action, presumed dead.’”

“The key word being presumed,” Oliver replies.  But Laurel continues as if she didn’t hear.

“And even then I waited!   And then Tommy got sent home injured, and he was there for me!  He was good to me!  We thought you were dead!  How were we supposed to know?  And then one day, out of the blue, you turn up…”

“And find my girl hitched to my best friend.” Oliver says it quickly hoping speed will dull the sting.

“When I saw you, all the feelings came back.  I was going to leave him.  Sara was going to help me get away from him.”  Laurel’s voice turns pleading and desperate.  Oliver tries to make sense of it, why would Sara need to help her get away?  What the hell was going on?

As if to answer, Laurel continues, “He’s changed since he went to work for his dad.  I don’t trust Malcolm, you don’t know him, he’s got a real mean streak.  He told me once, after you came back, that if I ever left Tommy, he would make sure that my whole family would regret it.  He’s controlling and manipulative.  Tommy doesn’t see it. But he scares me, Ollie,” Laurel’s voice breaks.

Laurel launches herself forward, wrapping her arms around Oliver’s neck, “Oh Ollie!”  There was a time when he didn’t want anything more than for Laurel Lance to look up at him the way she was right now. But as Oliver looked down at her, he was surprised to realize that now that she was, he felt nothing; nothing, except pity. “But, Ollie,” Laurel continued, “I never stopped caring about you.  I still—“

“Still what, Laurel?”  The male voice cuts in, and Laurel stiffens her face settling in a mask as she stands there frozen.

Oliver looks up past Laurel at the man standing in shadow in the doorway, Tommy Merlyn.

Slowly, Oliver untangles Laurel’s arms from around his neck.  Laurel takes a swig of her drink saying nervously, “Tommy.  It’s not what it looks like.”

Tommy steps into the room.  He’s handsome, wearing a suit; his face is grim, set in anger.  “It looks like I interrupted a lover’s quarrel.”

Laurel shakes her head, takes a stopper off a crystal decanter to refill her glass.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”  Tommy places a hand over hers and says low and furious, “It’s not even noon and you’re already drunk.”

Laurel’s eyes fill with tears, but she retorts angrily, “Go to hell, Tommy Merlyn.”

“Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down, you look tired.”  Tommy says meanly. Laurel lifts her chin, trying to muster her dignity.

Turning to Oliver, she says, “I think I will lie down, it’s been a very trying day.”  She sweeps past Tommy, gripping the banner as she makes her way unsteadily up the stairs.  As soon as she leaves the room, Tommy’s shoulders slump a little, he takes the half-filled glass that was Laurel’s and downs it in one gulp and then refills it.  He raises the glass toward Oliver, offering him one, but Oliver shakes his head no.

“It’s been a long time, Ollie.  Last time I saw you, my father in law had you in the back of a cop car.”

“Not my finest hour.”  Oliver had spent the last months of the war in a German POW camp, the days and nights bleeding together in one never-ending nightmare.  Better men than him had been broken by the deprivation, the torture, the treatment at the hands of the Nazis.  The only thing that had got him through was this dream of home, of his family, his friends, and Laurel. 

When the allies had finally triumphed and he had been freed, it had taken months to recover before he was able to make his way home.  He’ll never forget that sick feeling when he had realized that Tommy and Laurel were married.  He hadn’t taken it well, he had been angry and hurt, and one night showed up drunk and raving outside the Merlyn mansion.  Tommy’s dad, Malcolm had called the cops, and Quentin had hauled him off to jail.  That had been two years ago, like he said to Laurel, water under the bridge.

“What brings you to my home, Ollie?”  Tommy asks casually, “Other than making love to my wife?”

Oliver sighs wanting to protest, but knowing nothing he says will register with Tommy right now, “I came here because I heard about Sara, and I wanted to make sure Laurel was okay.”

“Laurel’s my responsibility, not yours.”  Tommy grits out.

“You seem to be falling down on the job.”  Oliver retorts.  Tommy’s head whips up, the anger flaring again. Oliver perseveres, “she’s in bad shape, Tommy.  What happened to you two?”

Tommy laughed derisively, “You happened Ollie, when you came back, alive.”

“So this is my fault?  Your wife is a drunk because of me?”  Oliver scoffs.

Tommy shakes his head, and then looks up at Oliver, sadly, “No.  My wife is a drunk because of me.  She still carries a torch for you.  For what could have been if she and I hadn’t…you know we were happy for a while.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tommy sighs tiredly rubbing his eyes, “We used to be friends, Ollie.”

“I thought we still were.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m happy you’re not dead.”

“Thanks.  I’m happy she has you.”  Tommy sits down and Oliver takes a chair too.  They seem to be at a détente for now.

Tommy is quiet for a long moment, lost in thought, remembering, slowly he starts to speak, “Things got worse when I started working for my dad.”

“You said you never would.”

“I know.  But I wanted to make a life for us.  Buy a fancy house.” He waves his arm indicating their surroundings, “clothes, jewelry.”

“Is that what she wanted?”

Tommy shakes his head, “we got lost in the shuffle…and you know how my dad can be, he likes to have his way.  But working for him…it’s not what I thought it would be. “ 

Oliver leans forward, he’s missing a link here, and he can feel it.  He stares intently at Tommy trying to will the information out of him.  Tommy studies Oliver, trying to decide whether to trust him, his face changes as he decides.

“You know he came from nothing?  He grew up dirt poor.  And now, he’s one of richest men in Star City.”  Oliver nods encouragingly and Tommy continues, “I mean he’s an American success story, right?  But, the path to success wasn’t exactly straight.”

And there it is.  Oliver sits back in his chair, not surprised by the revelation, now that it’s out.  “Are you saying your dad is crooked?”

“I never thought he was a saint.”  Tommy answers quickly.  “But, I had no idea the extent of his…”  Tommy pauses, hesitant, “criminal enterprises.”

“Level with me Tommy.”  Oliver says quietly.

“He’s a gangster.”  Tommy says simply letting the truth of the words sit in the silent room.  “Girls, gambling, drugs, you name it.  He’s in with the mob, Bratva, triad, I don’t know who else.  I don’t want to know.”

“Why don’t you quit, Tommy?”  Oliver asks disgusted.

“It’s not that easy!  At first, I was too shocked.  Then, I tried to convince him to go straight.  He strung me along for a while, but he just did it behind my back.  When I found out…you should have seen the sneer on his face, like he always knew I’d be a disappointment.”  Tommy said bitterly.  “And now…now I know too much, seen too much.”

“So what, you think he’d hurt you?  You’re his son, his only child.”

Tommy levels Oliver with a sad stare, “You don’t know what he’s like.”

“Is that why Sara was trying to get Laurel out of town?  Is that what the two of you were arguing about outside Verdant?” 

Tommy’s eyes widen in surprise, wondering how Oliver knew that, but then he relaxes smiling, “I forgot you were a gumshoe now.”  He laughs a little in bemusement, “Yeah I saw her, she blamed my father for Laurel’s drinking, she said that I needed to take Laurel and leave town. I told her she was crazy.  We had a life here, a home, her family; I can’t just walk away from everything, that wasn’t going to solve anything, and besides Malcolm wouldn’t let us even if we wanted to.  I told her to be patient for a little longer.  She said that if I didn’t take care of it she was going to.” 

Tommy stands up pacing a little, “I told her to meet me at the office so we could talk about it, but I got held up at a meeting and my secretary said she never showed.  I thought she had given up on the whole thing.  Next thing I know, Detective Lance shows up crying.”

Oliver left Tommy’s house with no more information than when he came.  The bright sunny day had given way to late afternoon while he was there and now the sun was setting and the city was descending into darkness.  Oliver knew Tommy was telling the truth.  Whether or not there was still some love lost between them, Tommy was his oldest friend and he knew him better than almost anyone.  He was relieved Tommy didn’t do it, besides Thea confirmed his alibi for the night.  But that still didn’t solve what happened to Sara or where she went after that argument on the street. 

Oliver stops at his office building, he looks up at the window to his office, thinking Felicity is probably still up there working.  But, rather than going in, he keeps moving, he needed to think things over there must be something he’s missing.  Besides, his childhood friend was dead, and his thoughts were in a dark place, he wasn’t sure he wanted to bring that back to the office, not sure he wanted Felicity to see him like that.

He steps into a nearby watering hole, sits at the bar, mulling his drink quietly, as the rest of the denizens laugh and chatter around him.  By the time he steps out of the bar, it was night.  Slowly, walking back to the now darkened office, Oliver wobbles down the street.   A man appears in front of him, wearing a dark suit, his fedora low over his brow obscuring his face.  The man blocks his way and Oliver regards him in confusion, swaying slightly, his words a little slurred, “Excuse me.”  But the man doesn’t budge.  Oliver, his annoyance rising tries to step around him, but the man moves continuing to block him.

“What’s the big idea?”  Oliver growls angrily.  The man pushes him.  Any other time, Oliver could have held his own, but after a couple of drinks, his legs unsteady under him, Oliver falls backward.  But instead of falling to the ground, his progress is stopped by another man, who is standing behind him, breaking his fall.  Oliver looks back at the man, similarly dressed as the first.  Realization dawns slowly in his drunk fogged brain, this is no coincidence.  As if on cue, the two men grab him by the arms roughly moving him off the street and into a nearby alley.

They drag him down the dark corridor and one of the men holds him fast as the other punches him hard in the stomach.  Oliver doubles over, gasping for air, the pain of the blow making his vision go white for a second.  Feebly, he attempts to fight back, but the man continues to rain blows on him. 

The man who had been holding Oliver lets him go and Oliver slumps to the ground.  He pulls out a gun, training its sight on Oliver.  The other man hisses, “What are you doing, the Boss said not to kill him.”

“Yeah, yeah okay.”  Oliver takes the man’s momentary distraction as an opportunity to reach slowly for the firearm he keeps on him, hidden in his suit, trying to get to it without the guys noticing.  He pulls it out hiding it under his body.  The man turns his attention back to Oliver, waving the gun in emphasis, “Stop sticking your nose where it don’t belong if you know what’s good for you.”

Oliver coughs, tasting blood, he spits out a glob of it on the ground, croaking, “Who sent you?”  Before the man can answer, a back door opens into the alley and a young man carrying trash bags emerges.  He stops short staring at the tableau in front of him.

The gunman’s friend says, “C’mon, let’s scram.” 

As the two men turn to leave, Oliver leaps up to his feet brandishing his gun, “Stop right there,” he says tersely.  The men freeze, their bodies tensed and waiting.  “Get out of here.” He says to the young man who quickly drops his bags where he stands and re-enters the building pulling the door shut behind him.  Oliver keeps the gun and his eyes trained on the men, asking once the door finishes closing, “Who do you work for, Malcolm Merlyn?” 

Instead of answering, the gunman raises his gun firing off a shot.  Oliver feels the bullet before it registers to him that the gun had even fired, he feels the burning sensation tearing through his side, and he dips forward.

The gunman growls, “You won’t get a second warning.” And he and the other man clatter down the alley, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls.

Oliver holds a hand to his side with the wound, feeling the warm wetness seeping through his shirt.  He briefly considers sitting on the ground, but knows he can’t, not if he wants to survive.  Lurching forward he makes his way down the alley.

* * *

 

Felicity hangs a damp stocking up in the shower.  She pulls her blonde hair out of its customary ponytail, gently massaging her scalp as she regards her reflection in the mirror.  Oliver hadn’t returned to the office.  Truth be told, she was worried about him.  She had never seen him so shaken as when he got off the phone with Cooper.  She didn’t know much about his past, just the bits and pieces he occasionally revealed.  He was a hard man to get to know, but there was something about him, that made her feel like if she did, it would be worth it.

She had been working the switchboard at Kord Industries, when her girlfriend had confessed she thought her father had a mistress.  She begged Felicity to come with her to a meeting she had set up with a private detective, for “moral support.” Felicity had agreed, more out of boredom than anything else.  Connecting callers wasn’t exactly scintillating work, but it gave her a lot of free time to read and study, and it paid for night school, besides she loved a good mystery.

She was skeptical when they had walked into that decrepit office building and downright alarmed when they had walked into his office, completely devoid of furniture, just a lone pair of chairs and a desk adorned the space.  She had stood quietly, leaning against the wall, listening while he and her friend had talked; it gave her a chance to study him.

He was handsome.  More than handsome, he was a damn matinee idol, Errol Flynn, Gary Cooper, and Cary Grant rolled into one.  He was strong, athletic, she could tell that even under the rumpled suit and the scruff and the tired, sad eyes that held just a hint of menace.  But mostly, he seemed lost and lonely.

He had helped her friend, unfortunately, the outcome had been unfavorable but he had consoled her gently when she broke down in tears at the news.   Afterwards, Felicity couldn’t get him out of her mind, the thought of him sitting alone in that empty office.

She quit her job the next day, strode into his office and said, “Seeing an office this poorly set up hurts me.  In my soul.”  It had been a gamble, he could have easily shown her the door, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t.  She trusted him, even though she hardly knew him at the time, but she did.  And she had been right.  He was a good man, a broken man, but a good one.  And she was just the girl Friday he needed.

Felicity turned off the light in the bathroom, tightening her robe around her waist as she crossed the room towards the bed.  But, she stopped short when she heard a noise outside her window.  She pushed the sheer curtains aside, peering outside her window to the fire escape just outside and her mouth fell open in shock.  Oliver Queen, lay flat on his back on the fire escape floor beneath her window, his face pale, slightly shiny from a sheen of sweat, his breath labored.


	4. I would have remembered you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little stitching, a little banter, a little backstory, a little UST, a lot of flirting.

Felicity pulls up the window, leaning out over Oliver.  She sees the growing red splotch spreading across his abdomen, her eyes widening in surprise.  She catches his eye and blurts out, “You’re bleeding.”

Oliver shakes his head in disbelief, saying breathlessly, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

But Felicity isn’t listening; instead she’s peering past him down the fire escape to the dark alleyway two stories below, saying absentmindedly, “did you climb all the way up here with a gunshot wound?”

Exasperated, Oliver replies, “Can I answer that inside, please?”

Felicity brings her attention sharply back to Oliver, shaking her head, “Oh no!  Do you know how long I had to wait to get an apartment in this building?  Six months, Oliver Queen.  And the landlady has strict rules, curfew at 11pm and no men in the rooms.”

“I need your help, Felicity.”

“What you need is a hospital.”

“I can’t go to the hospital.”  He can see the words ‘why not’ forming on her lips, but she’s also turning a bit fuzzy, the edges around her blackening.

He looks like he’s going to pass out, damn him; she can’t let him bleed to death on her fire escape.  That’s as much a reason for eviction as letting him in.  Felicity hesitates wondering for his sake if he’s better off at the hospital, but he had a reason for coming here instead.  She knows in her heart she decided when she opened the window, but she still huffs out an irritated breath, “Come on let’s get you inside.”  Slowly, with her help, he sits up woozily, she half pulls and he half falls, awkwardly lurching forward through the window, sagging against her arm.  “Geez you’re heavy.”

Pale and drawn, his face set in grim lines of concentration, Oliver falls through the window onto the floor, pulling Felicity with the momentum, she sprawls on top of him.  He lies quietly for a moment, attempting to recapture his breath.  Oliver stares at the white plaster ceiling above, obscured by strands of soft blonde hair.  Her scent envelops him, dimly he’s aware of the softness of her form pressed up against him, any other time he would be enjoying that sensation.  Right now, all his attention is on the dull ache in his side.

Felicity lifts herself looking down at him, “Are you okay?”  She’s trying very hard not to notice, the hard lines of his body beneath her, how close to him she is right now, as she looks down into his handsome face, trying not to stare at his lips or notice just how blue his eyes are.  How if she just tipped her head down a little bit more, she could press her lips to his.  She’s surprised how much she would like that.  She would like that very much.

He looks back at her, a smile ghosting around his lips, “Peachy.”

But he’s white as a sheet, beads of sweat forming on his brow.  Felicity pulls him up to sitting again, and helps maneuver him into a chair.  By the time he’s seated, he’s panting and shaken from the exertion.  He closes his eyes in exhaustion.  Felicity says briskly, “Take off your shirt.”

Oliver opens his eyes, saying in wry amusement, “I imagined you saying that under different circumstances.”

“Oh brother,” Felicity rolls her eyes, “that bullet wound must not be that serious if you’re making jokes.”  Felicity retorts.  Oliver smirks as she walks into the small kitchenette not bothering to tell her how not joking he was.  He watches or rather listens to her rummaging through the cupboards, ostensibly grabbing supplies, then watches as she crosses into the bathroom.  As she bustles around, Oliver slowly and painstakingly pulls off his dress shirt.

Felicity returns, stopping short at the sight of the shirtless man slumped in her chair.  She wasn’t prone to fainting spells, but man alive, she was only human.  No one should look that good.  Felicity gulps hard taking a moment to compose herself, because she was about to touch that torso.

Oliver, thankfully, is completely oblivious, his eyes closed so that when she does touch him, he startles.  Felicity pulls him forward gently, her eyes assessing the wound; she looks behind him at his back.  “Looks like the bullet went clean through; it’s just a flesh wound. “

Oliver watches her as she talks, her eyes focused on examining his wound.  His eyes focused on examining her.  She is lovely.  And so very close.  He wants to kiss her soft lips, soundly.  He wants to do a lot more than that.  Spend a lost weekend in bed with her, exploring her like Columbus discovering a new world.  If he could, it’s taking all his willpower to remain conscious.

Felicity continues, “Lucky for you, because I’m not equipped to deal with a massive gunshot wound.”  She quirks an eyebrow at him, “I can clean it out and stitch you up, you’ll be as good as new, although I can’t promise you won’t have a wicked scar.”

“You seem like you know what you’re talking about.”  Oliver asks curiously.

“You’re not my first gunshot wound.” She replies, her eyes are amused, but her tone is not.  Oliver’s eyebrows raise in surprise, he silently waits for her to continue.  “I drove an ambulance in the war.”  She adds quietly.

“You never told me that,” Oliver says.  Felicity pulls out a bottle of whiskey, dabbing a bit of alcohol on a clean rag and pressing it against his side.  Oliver hisses in pain. 

 “You never asked.” Felicity shoots back, matter-of-factly.  She hands him the bottle and he takes a healthy swig from it.  Somehow the news doesn’t shock him, of course she did.  This smart, brave plucky girl in front of him, it’s exactly what she would do.  She wasn’t the type to sit at home, sewing socks and planning USO dances.  Not for the first time, Oliver is filled with admiration for her.

“Where did you serve?”  He asks curiously.

“Europe, mostly Italy and France, “ she murmurs, as she meticulously cleans the wound in his side, her fingers softly brushing against his skin, improbably spreading a warm tendril of desire straight to his core.  This is highly inappropriate he thinks.  

“Picked up a few things along the way, sometimes the medics needed an extra set of hands…” Felicity puts down the now bloodied rag and pulls out a long thin needle and some thread from a small sewing box.  She looks up at him shrewdly, “You might want another swig of that.”  Obediently, he takes a big gulp, letting the warm liquid burn down his throat, the anesthetizing effect of the alcohol doing its work.  Felicity continues, “Sometimes…the only thing you could do was hold a hand and be there with them for their last moments.” Her voice wobbled a little and he ducked his chin down so he could catch her eye, nodding in understanding.

“I used to think I wanted to be a nurse after the war,” Felicity spoke quietly, as she sewed his wound carefully shut, “but I just didn’t have the stomach for it.  I’ve had enough death to last me ten lifetimes.”

“I know.”  Oliver replies, thinking over the years of fighting, the stream of young faces, men that breathed their last on battlefields far away.  Felicity knots the end of her stitch expertly, examining her handiwork.

Oliver looks down at the neat row of stitches, “not bad.  Thank you.”  Felicity wipes her hands on a fresh rag, putting away her supplies.

“You’re welcome.  “You know you said you were stationed in Europe too, who knows, maybe you rode in my ambulance.”

“I didn’t.”  Oliver says with a smile.

“How do you know?” Felicity asks quizzically.

“Because I would have remembered you.”

Felicity scoffs, “Flatterer.  I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Not in a long time.” 

“How did I get so lucky?”  Felicity quips back.

Oliver shrugs, “There’s just something about you,” Oliver replies not bothering to mask the sincerity in his voice.  He stands pulling his shirt up over his shoulders.  Felicity helps him to pull the fabric when it catches on a muscled shoulder.

“Guess there’s no chance of going out the front…”

“You’re not leaving!  I didn’t spend the last twenty minutes stitching you up, just so that you can rip all the stitches out climbing down the fire escape.  Besides, you need rest.”

“Why Miss Smoak, are you asking me to spend the night?”

“Shut up and get into bed.”

“I love a lady who knows what she wants.”  Oliver fires back, enjoying their banter.

“I’m sleeping in the chair.”

Oliver shakes his head in mock disappointment, “Party pooper.”

“You’re incorrigible.”  Felicity says her hands on her hips, but she is amused by his antics.

“You’re remarkable.”

Oliver carefully sits on the bed, leaning against the headboard while Felicity settles herself into the chair.  A companionable silence descends.

* * *

 

Oliver opens his eyes, the cold grey light of early morning illuminating the room.  He must have been more worn out than he thought, because he doesn’t even remember falling asleep.  He sits up checking his stitches, which now have a fresh bandage covering them.  Felicity must have applied it in the night.  He looks over to the chair she occupied, but it sits empty. 

The door to the bathroom opens and she emerges, freshly showered and changed.

“Good morning.”  She says with a smile.  “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a dead man.”  Oliver shakes his head ruefully, trying to recall at what point he passed out.

“You crashed hard.”  She replied in agreement, “One thing I didn’t get a chance to ask you last night…” 

“Hmm.”

“Who shot you?”

“They didn’t introduce themselves.  But, I think they worked for Malcolm Merlyn.”

“Malcolm Merlyn, your friend Tommy’s dad?”  Felicity’s eyes widened in surprise, “Why would he do that?”

“Good question.  Somebody doesn’t want me looking into Sara’s death.  Tommy seemed to think that Malcolm is mixed up somehow with Sara wanting Laurel out of town and away from them.”

Felicity sits down in the chair, leaning forward in excitement, “So you don’t suspect Tommy anymore?”

“No.  He admitted to arguing with her earlier in the night, said she was going to meet up with him at his office but she never showed.”  Felicity sits up at attention, a thoughtful look on her face. “What?”

“I almost forgot.  A woman named Nyssa called for you.  She said that she hadn’t told you the whole truth earlier.  Sara had come home, said she had gone to meet Tommy but ran into his father instead.  Sara was real shaken up about it but she wouldn’t tell Nyssa why.  She just said she saw something she wasn’t supposed to and that she needed to take care of her sister; get her away from the Merlyn family.  Sara packed up her things and left to get Laurel but now we know she never made it.”

“Malcolm is mixed up with some shady business on the side.  Maybe it’s time I tracked him down and had a chat with him.”

“You don’t need to track him down, I can tell you exactly where he’s going to be tonight” Oliver looks at her in amazement, “at Verdant, “she finishes before he can ask.

“Now how do you know that?”

“You really don’t read the society pages, do you?”  Oliver shakes his head. “He’s celebrating the opening of his new Merlyn Global skyscraper in downtown Star City.”

A sharp knock on the door halts the conversation.  Felicity and Oliver look at each other in consternation.

“You expecting someone?”  Oliver whispers.

Felicity shakes her head; she puts a finger to her lips and walks over to the door.  Oliver pulls himself out of bed, and stands out of sight listening.

Felicity open the door to reveal a middle aged woman, stern, wearing a flower detailed robe tied tightly around her waist.  She peers at Felicity disapprovingly, her lips in a thin line. 

“I was walking by and I heard voices, particularly a _male_ voice.  I run a respectable building and--”

Felicity places a wide fake smile on her face and in a cheery and hopefully innocent voice says, “Certainly not, I’m well aware of the house rules.”   Felicity pretends to have an epiphany, “What you heard was probably my radio.”

 “Your radio?”  Miss Rourke scoffs.

“Yes, the radio,” Felicity repeats back failing to keep the edge out of her voice, “Of course your welcome to come inside and see for yourself if you don’t believe me,”  she bluffs.  Oliver quickly looks around the room trying to calculate where and how fast he can hide.

But the bluff seems to have done the trick because Miss Rourke finally begins to look doubtful, quickly demurring, “No, that’s not necessary.  Just turn the down the volume, for the sake of the other residents.

Felicity nods enthusiastically, “Yes, of course.  Sorry.”  Felicity tries to push the door closed, but Miss Rourke stops her again.

“One more thing.”

Felicity stifles an irritated sigh as she turns back to the landlady, “Yes?”

“Last night, there was quite a loud noise – I almost came up to see what it was.  A loud, thumping noise.”

Felicity laughs with embarrassment, “I’m such a klutz,” she says smoothly, “You know I didn’t look where I was going and I tripped over a chair and fell flat on my face.”

“Oh.”  Miss Rourke exclaims, “Are you hurt?”

“No bruises, except my ego,” Felicity says cheerily.  Felicity holds her breath, praying that this will be the end of the conversation.

Miss Rourke nods curtly, accepting the story, “You should be more careful, Miss Smoak.”

Felicity presses her lips together, nodding in agreement.  She watches Miss Rourke as she continues down the hall, only closing the door when she sees the woman has rounded the corner in the hallway, muttering with irritation, “busybody.”

Oliver emerges from behind the wall and Felicity shrugs, “I thought with the early hour I could sneak you out the front, but that’s impossible now.  You’re going to have to leave the way you came.  Just be careful, you don’t open up the stitches.”

“Thanks, I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble.” Oliver says nodding his head to the door.

“Who, Miss Rourke?  Don’t worry I can handle her.”

Oliver smiles, thinking I bet you can, “You wouldn’t happen to have a fancy dress in that closet of yours?”

“I might.  Why do you ask?”

“Care to accompany me on a little adventure at Verdant tonight?”

Felicity smiles broadly, “Why I’d be delighted.”


	5. Not For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go sideways.

Oliver Queen walks past the throng of people waiting impatiently outside Verdant.  The large man holding court at the door moves the red velvet rope aside to let him through.  They exchange nods and Oliver pretends not to see the affronted glares of the people who after hours of stamping their feet, shivering in the cold night air, are still left waiting outside.  Yearning for the warmth, light, and promise of a glittering world they can only glimpse in the moments the gilt doors of the club open and close.

Sauntering into the room, thronged with people, Oliver scans the scene, the men in formal wear, and women in furs, dripping in jewels.  Many are standing, but the lucky few sit indolently in their privilege at tables scattered about the room.  The band plays loudly and boisterously and a few couples move about the dance floor.

Out of the crowds, a vision in red approaches, and Oliver has to swallow hard when he realizes who it is; Felicity.  He’s sees her every day, but not like this.  Her gleaming blonde hair is down, straight at the crown, but falling into loose waves that would put Veronica Lake to shame.  Her long dress hugs her curves shown to advantage as she walks toward him, each stride forward causing the long slit to open slightly, offering a tantalizing glimpse of leg.  She scans the crowd, her gaze sharpening when she finally finds him, her face breaking into a smile that he can’t help but echo.

“You sure clean up nice” she says when she finally reaches him, glancing at his tuxedo clad figure.

“I can say the same about you.” He replies and is rewarded with a warm smile.

“They haven’t arrived yet as far as I can tell.”  Felicity hesitates for a moment and then pulling on his arm says in a low whisper, “I have to show you something.”

She pulls him into a darkened corner of the club, looking around quickly.  Oliver covers the small smile on his lips at her dramatic mysterious behavior.

“What are you doing?”  He asks, as she pulls him further behind a large potted plant, obscuring them from view.  Quickly, she sweeps her hand across the slit of her dress, exposing one leg from toe to thigh.

Is it getting hot?  Oliver’s throat constricts as he is hit by a wave of heat crawling up his neck, covering desperately, he says, “Nice gams.  But why are you showing them to me?”

Felicity dips her chin forcefully down in exasperation.  And he finally sees it, the holster wrapped around her thigh, the small pistol encased in it.

“Where did you get that?”  Oliver asks as she lets the fabric fall covering her leg once more.

“I borrowed it from the gal that lives across the hall in my building.”

“Really?  And why does she have a thigh holster?”  Felicity shrugs noncommittal and Oliver continues to probe, “She sounds like an interesting gal.”

“Oh, Peggy is very interesting,” Felicity smirks.

Oliver has several follow up questions, but before he can form one, Felicity stiffens.  “They’re here.”

He turns and immediately sees them.  It’s hard not to notice them.  Malcolm Merlyn stands at the entrance of the club flanked by his bodyguard in a dark suit.  Next to him is Tommy Merlyn, dashing and handsome in his tuxedo and standing between them in a glittering dress is Laurel.  They make a dramatic tableau and all the denizens of the club take a moment to take them in.

Oliver starts forward to intercept them but stops when Thea approaches him, she’s stunning in a beaded backless evening gown, and she nods at Felicity’s, “Who’s that?”  His sister never misses a trick.

Oliver looks at her in bemusement, “Who?”

Thea rolls her eyes, “The knockout; the one you’re all hotsy-totsy for.”

“I’m not—“Oliver bites his tongue knowing full well that any protestation will be seen as confirmation by his sister, “That’s Felicity Smoak, she’s my secretary.”

“And here I thought you were developing a work ethic, now I know the real reason you’re so suddenly devoted to your job.”  Thea smirks up at him.

“Don’t you have a club to run?” Oliver retorts.

“I do.  I’m just waiting for the shock to wear off.”  Oliver glances sharply at Thea, “Two visits in a week from my big brother.”

“Maybe I miss you.”

“C’mon Ollie, level with me, will ya,” Thea turns serious, “If something’s going down tonight in my club I want to know.”

“I don’t plan on things getting messy, but just keep an eye on Malcolm Merlyn.  That’s all I can say for now.”  Thea’s eyes narrow but she doesn’t pursue it, letting him continue his journey.  But, he can feel her eyes boring into his back.

Tommy stiffens when he sees Oliver walk forward toward them.  “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Where; at my sister’s club?”  Oliver turns to Laurel who stands brittle and frozen, “Laurel.”  Laurel’s eyes slide toward him but she curtly nods before skittishly looking away.   She looks scared to death, and Oliver notices that Malcolm has a hand on her arm, keeping her next to him.  Malcolm turns his attention toward Oliver, the smirk on his lips not reaching his eyes.

“Oliver Queen.   How’s the peeping Tom business, oh sorry, detective business?” 

“It’s swell,” Oliver answers ignoring the dig, “business is booming, a lot of unhappy marriages.”  Malcolm’s smile falters a bit and he can’t help the glance he throws at Tommy and Laurel, who have tensed even more.  “In fact, I recently picked up a missing person’s case, Sara Lance.”

Oliver glances at Laurel, who is fixing him with a warning glare.

“Did you try the morgue?”  Malcolm retorts and Laurel flinches beside him.

“Maybe we can have this conversation sitting down,” Tommy says tightly and Laurel adds, “And I can order a drink.”

“At least your priorities are consistent, dear” Malcolm snipes at her.  But, they all walk to a small table in the front.  Oliver walks with them. 

“Not really sure what I have to do with it, but since we’re celebrating tonight why not?  I’m feeling charitable.”  Malcolm says and indicates a chair for Oliver.  Before he can sit down, the bodyguard blocks him.  “Just a formality, one can never be too cautious.”  Malcolm says smoothly.  Oliver masks his irritation with a bland smile and raises his hands up, letting the man pat him down.  The man removes his revolver from his inside jacket. 

But, that sixth sense, the one that saved his hide across Europe is shouting at him that something’s not right.  He feels naked without his weapon and then he spies Felicity across the room and he remembers the gun on her leg.  Felicity sits at the bar, but she’s watching the group across the room intently and Oliver motions to her.  He turns to the group, saying heartily, “Mind if my date joins me?”

“I have no objection,” Malcolm replies eyeing Felicity as she walks toward them, “especially one as lovely as her.” 

Uncertainly, Felicity stands next to Oliver as he pulls a chair out for her to sit in.  Softly, he murmurs in her ear, “I need your help, do you trust me?”  He gives her a look he hopes says ‘just go with it.’

Felicity stares at him with steely intensity.  What is he up to?  For a tense moment, Oliver waits.  But she decides quickly, giving him a slight imperceptible nod, answering softly, “Yes,” as she sits down next to him. 

“This is Felicity Smoak, my partner.”  Oliver announces to the group.   Oliver leans forward, hovering uncertainly, close to her mouth.  He lightly presses his mouth to hers, acutely conscious of the eyes of the other people at the table on the pair of them.  He is surprised by the sudden spike of desire, the movement of her mouth evokes in him. 

She hesitates slightly, but then relaxes into his arms and opens her mouth to his, and everything fades away but her. 

And he finds himself, intensifying the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth.  His seeking exploration is rewarded, when a small moan escapes from her.  Slowly, he slides an arm around her waist and pulls her even more closely, practically pulling her onto his lap, while his other hand sliding between her legs. 

It’s a good thing the tablecloth is shielding the action under the table.  She gasps against his mouth and shivers as his fingers skim the skin of her inner leg, upward to her thigh.  And Oliver is half convinced she’s going to pull away and slap his face, but she doesn’t.  Instead she leans into his kiss, widening her legs slightly so that he can keep sliding his hand higher still and he struggles to keep hold of his arousal under the circumstances. 

Finally his hand reaches its destination and he feels the cold hard barrel of the small gun strapped to her thigh.  Deftly, he removes it, sliding his hand away, bereft that he can’t continue sliding his hand up her warm skin to her molten center.  He will be left wondering if he had been able to touch her, whether she would be wet for him or not.  He will be left to yearn for the chance to stroke her, slide his fingers inside her, hold her fast and close as he brings her to completion in his arms.  But not tonight and not in the middle of Verdant, instead he tucks the small gun into the sleeve of his jacket. 

Oliver breaks the kiss.  They look at each other for a moment in stunned silence.  She’s breathing hard, a becoming flush of red, creeping up her neck and in her cheeks.  Her lips are red and swollen and she pants softly.  He can pretty much guess he has a similar gob-smacked look on his face. 

A choked laugh from the other side of the table brings him back to the room and he glances over at the other three people seated across from them.  Malcolm Merlyn watches them both his eyes glittering with amusement, a wide smirk on his face.  Of course, he’s enjoying the spectacle.  Tommy looks confused and slightly impressed and Laurel, her lips are pressed tightly together her mouth drawn down into a slight frown.  “I apologize; sometimes…we’re simply crazy about each other, we can’t help ourselves.  Isn’t that right, sweetheart.”  Felicity nods in agreement. 

Tommy extends a hand, looking at her with open curiosity but charming as ever, “Miss Smoak, Tommy Merlyn.  Where has Oliver been hiding you?”

Felicity blushes shaking her head in embarrassment. 

Laurel interjects, “It’s nice to see you again, Miss Smoak.  Although I must say I didn’t recognize you at first.  And I had no idea you and Ollie were so…intimately acquainted.”

Felicity’s eyebrows rise at the description, but she just smiles countering sweetly, “I guess you don’t know him as well as you think.”

Malcolm grins wolfishly, head swiveling back and forth, enjoying the tension at the table.

“Mind if I ask you a few questions?”  Oliver leans toward Malcolm getting down to business.

Malcolm swivels his attention to Oliver, his glee giving way to smugness.  He leans back in his chair expansively, opening his hands, “Ask away.”

“You were the last person to see Sara Lance alive.”  Malcolm doesn’t flinch, but Oliver is gratified to see that smug smile slip a little.

“Is that a question?”

“You’re not denying it.”

“I’m not sure where you’re getting your information, but you’re sadly misinformed.” Malcolm shakes his head mockingly.

“I don’t think so.”  Oliver counters flintily.

Malcolm cocks an eyebrow, “Well I guess it’s my word against yours.”  Malcolm leans forward, “Is that it?”

Oliver changes tack, “Okay, why don’t we talk about all your different criminal enterprises?”

“Waiter!”  Tommy cries out sharply to a passing employee.  The man stops and Tommy barks, “two whiskeys neat and on the double.”

“Yes sir.”  The man replies crisply and rushes off to fill the order.

“Criminal enterprises?”  Malcolm scoffs.  “Suffice to say this conversation is running dangerously close into the realm of fantasy.  Pretty soon you’re going to accuse me of being an international assassin.”

The waiter returns placing the drinks on the table.  Tommy and Laurel quickly reach out and down the drinks in one gulp.  The rest are frozen in place.

Oliver smiles frostily, “I don’t think you’re an assassin, but I do think you are crooked,” he zeroes in for the kill, “and maybe even a killer.  In fact, I think you had Sara Lance killed.”

Malcolm’s mask slips, and he spits out coldly, “Prove it.”  The table falls into silence as the two men face off.  But, Oliver can’t.  He didn’t know what possessed him to accuse Malcolm, but the minutes he said the words he knew they were true.  And Malcolm’s response just confirmed it, but he was right, Oliver didn’t have any proof.

“Maybe you’d like to see it in a more private setting.”  Oliver bluffs.

“I don’t think so.  Tonight, I’m celebrating the opening of my new building with my family.  I’m done engaging your science fiction.  Gentlemen, please see Mr. Queen and his lovely associate from my table.”

The bodyguard starts forward, but Oliver barks out quickly, “One more step and I will put a slug in your boss.”  The man stops short looking to Malcolm for instructions.

“Did you forget I took your gun?”  Malcolm sneers.

“I’ve got a gun pointed right at you under this table.”  Oliver says flatly.  Oliver leans back slightly revealing the shiny metal handle in his hand.  “Now we’re all going to get up and go in the back room, nice and quiet.  And nobody better make any sudden moves.”  The group stands up slowly and Oliver quickly drapes a dinner napkin over his hand to conceal the gun.  He moves around the table to stand next to Malcolm jabbing the barrel of the gun into his side.  The bodyguard leads the way to the side of the room, followed by Tommy, Laurel, and Felicity.  Malcolm and Oliver bring up the rear.

They pass through the swinging doors to the kitchen and follow a long hallway to a back area filled with shelves and a manager’s office.

“Felicity,” Oliver calls to her, placing the gun into her hand and motions toward Malcolm, “if he moves one muscle, shoot him.”  Oliver walks over to the bodyguard who growls, “Should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“I thought I recognized you,” Oliver quickly punches him in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. “That’s for shooting me.”  He says as he leans down and reclaims his own and the man’s guns.  He turns back to Malcolm and points his gun at him, telling Felicity, “Find Thea and tell her to call the cops.”  Felicity nods backing out of the room.

“And Felicity!” Oliver calls after her.  She turns around and he motions to her small gun that she still holds in her hand.  “You might want to hide that before you go.”  She looks down at the gun realization dawning and nods quickly.  She sweeps the dress aside and affixes the gun to her thigh.

Malcolm lets out a bark of laughter, “So that’s how you did it.  She’s a keeper, Oliver.”

Oliver rounds on Malcolm, “Why did you do it, what did Sara have on you?  She went to your office looking for Tommy.  My informant says she found you instead.  Did she have dirt on you, she see something she shouldn’t have Malcolm.  Maybe one of your dirty dealings, what was so bad it was worth her life.  Spill it.”

“You’re delusional.  You’re fishing but I’m not that foolish.”  Malcolm retorts.

“I don’t need a thing.  All I got to do is point the finger in your direction.  Once the cops start sniffing around, I’m betting they’ll find a lot of interesting information about you.  It’s over.”  Oliver counters.

Malcolm simmers with anger, knowing the truth of it.  The last thing he wants or needs is anyone to look too closely at him, his business, or his partners, he spits out, “She wasn’t the one that saw something, was she Laurel?”

Oliver is shocked.  That was the last thing he expected.  Three heads swivel towards Laurel.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Laurel says quickly.

“Oh don’t you.” Malcolm sneers sarcastically, “You thought you could get her to do your dirty business.  Tell them Laurel, tell them what really happened.”

“What is he talking about?”  Oliver says, each word slicing through the air.

Laurel starts to shake, her voice wheedling, “Sara didn’t see something, I did.  I told her about it.”

Tommy grabs her arm, turning her towards him, “What-what did you see?”

She shakes her hand loose, her voice rising in panic, her words coming out in short bursts as she stares at Malcolm her eyes wide with fear, “After we got married—one night, I came by the office to see you—but you weren’t there—I saw your dad with this man—he had a gun—he shot him—later on the papers said the man jumped from the Star City bridge—but I knew it was a lie—he just killed him in cold blood!  He saw me—he knew and he threatened me—he said if I ever said a word—he’d kill everyone I loved.  Why do you think I drink so much—he’s a monster!”  Laurel dissolves into tears.

“She’s still lying; it’s almost impressive how well she does it.”  Malcolm scoffs.  “I didn’t know she saw a thing until Sara came by the office that night.  Said you told her all about it, said she was going straight to the police or the papers if I didn’t let you leave.”

Oliver turns to Laurel, saying accusingly, “You walked into my office asking me to find Sara and the whole time you knew what happened.”

Laurel shakes her head quickly, “No.  No I didn’t.  I suspected, but—“

“But you knew what you had seen.  You knew about Malcolm and you let me run around chasing my tail.”  Oliver feels the white hot fury rising inside him.  She had played him for a fool.

“No!”  Laurel shakes her head again.  She casts her eyes about the room like a cornered animal.  She glances over at Tommy who is looking at her, betrayal all over his face.

“Lies upon lies,” Oliver spits out.

“Yes!  Okay.  But I didn’t know she was going to confront him!  I didn’t know what he was going to do!”

Malcolm turns on Laurel, saying derisively, “Did she honestly think I’d be blackmailed?  Did she think I would let you two just ride off into the sunset with a knife over my head?”

“So you killed her?”  Oliver says quickly.

“Yeah I killed her.”  Malcolm says flintily.  “But I was just the bullet,” He says glaring at Laurel, “you pulled the trigger.”

“No.”  Laurel shakes her head defiantly.  “He just admitted it!  He killed her, dumped her naked body in a field to rot!  My dad said there were others left just like Sara.  Who knows how many women he’s killed!  He’s psychotic!”

Malcolm laughs, “I’m not a serial killer.”  Oliver didn’t doubt it, Malcolm Merlyn was many things, but this made sense to Oliver.  Something about the way Sara was found didn’t add up.  Malcolm was practical not pathological.

Oliver interjects, “You just tried to make it look like one of those murders?”

Malcolm nods, “Having a police commissioner in your pocket makes it easy to get the details right.”

“You’re sick.”  Tommy says tearfully.

Malcolm looks at him with pity and scorn, “Your head was so easily turned by a pretty face.  You two deserve each other, both of you; weak.”  Malcolm waves his hand, “You wanted for nothing!  Who do you think paid for the big house you grew up in, who paid for your fancy Ivy League college, your car, and your clothes?  I did!  You didn’t care where the money came from when you were spending it.  I’m the one who did whatever it took to give you the best life and now you sit there and look down at me?”

“I hate you.”  Tommy grits out.

Malcolm’s eyes narrow and his voice turns to ice, “Look at Queen here, maybe I’d get somewhere if he was my son instead of you.  You were a sniveling little kid and you grew into a pretty, charming shell of a man.  Why did they send you home from the war, Tommy?  Sick of watching you cower in your foxhole?”

Tommy’s eyes widen in shock and Malcolm grins maliciously, “You think I didn’t know why you got sent home?  What was it they called it ‘Wartime stress?’  You didn’t have the stomach for war, and you don’t have the guts or the gumption to run my business.  Why do you think I have you at this club entertaining every night?  You’re not good for much else.  Even your wife would rather spend her nights with a bottle than with you. “ 

“You shut up!  He’s ten times the man you’ll ever be!”  Laurel spits angrily.  Tommy’s head whips toward Laurel in surprise.

Malcolm leers at Laurel, “Aw honey, let’s not pretend he wasn’t second choice.”

Tommy lunges at his dad, throwing Oliver off balance.  Oliver falls to the ground; the bodyguard’s gun goes skittering away.  The men scuffle over the gun in Oliver’s hand and Tommy wrests it away. 

Malcolm raises a hand to deflect him, “Don’t do anything stupid, Tommy.”

“Stop talking!”  Tommy shouts tearfully.  His hands are shaking.

“Tommy.”  Oliver says quietly.  “Give me the gun; the police are on their way.”

Tommy shakes his head.  “No, Oliver.”  He turns to Malcolm, “I’m not a shell.  You’re the shell.  My whole life you’ve done nothing but belittle me and make me feel so small.  You’ve ruined my life.  You’ve ruined Laurel’s life.  You KILLED Sara.  You deserve to die.”

Oliver tries to draw Tommy’s attention to him, pleadingly, “He deserves to go to jail.  The cops are already on their way Tommy.”

Malcolm just shakes his head spitefully, “You’re not going to pull that trigger Tommy.  You don’t have the guts.”

The air is pierced by the sound of three shots.  Malcolm’s face freezes in an expression of surprise.  He looks down at his shirt front, at the spreading bloom of blood there.

He looks up at his shooter as she stands holding the smoking gun that belonged to the bodyguard in her shaking hands.  Laurel’s face is a mask all the emotion drained out of her. 

Malcolm slumps to the floor, dead.  For a moment no one moves. 

“What did you do?”  Tommy asks in shock.

Laurel’s words tumble out, “You said it yourself.  He deserved to die.  He killed my sister.  He would have killed us.  He would never have let us alone!  You know he wouldn’t!”

Tommy quickly strides over to Laurel, pulling the gun out of her hands.  She lets him, her eyes still fixed on the slumped over body of Malcolm Merlyn.

Tommy turns to Oliver, grim and authoritative, “Get her out of here.”

It takes a moment for Oliver to process his words, “Tommy?  What are you doing?”

But, Tommy stares Oliver down, his whole demeanor tense but certain.  “You heard me Oliver; get her as far away from here as you can.”

Oliver and Tommy exchange a glance, and Oliver asks, “Are you sure?”  Tommy just gives a curt nod.

Oliver walks over to Laurel, putting a hand on her arm to guide her from the room; it seems to wake her up from her stupor, “Wait.  Where are you taking me?” 

“We gotta go, Laurel,” Oliver says in a low voice.

Laurel shakes her head, looking at Tommy in confusion, “But…what about you?”

“I’m staying.”  Realization crashes over Laurel.  And she shakes off Oliver’s hand rushing to Tommy.

“No!  You can’t stay!  They’ll arrest you!”

“I know.”  He answers quietly.

“NO!”  Laurel repeats, “It was me, not you.”

Tommy places his hands on Laurel’s arms, looking down at her, “Don’t you see, you’ll go to jail.  A murder rap will get you sent up at least 10 years maybe even life.  I can’t let that happen.  This is my fault.  He’s my father and you would never have been in this situation if you hadn’t married me.”

“I’m not going to let you do it, Tommy!”  Laurel cries, her voice choking on a sob, “not for me!”

Tommy shakes his head, a small rueful smile on his lips, “I love you Laurel.  I’ve always loved you.”  He looks again at Oliver, “Please, Ollie, the cops will be here soon.”

“NO!”  Laurel cries, as Oliver pulls her away. 

Thea bursts into the room, and breathlessly says, “The police are right behind me.”  She starts when she sees the body on the floor, but doesn’t miss a beat, “If you head down that hallway, there’s a back door out into the alley.  Felicity’s waiting for you in my car.  I’ll stall the cops.”

Oliver smiles at her gratefully, “Sorry about the mess, sis, didn’t mean to pull the place into a scandal.”

Thea shrugs, “Line will be twice as long tomorrow night.”  The corridor echoes with the sound of footsteps and voices and Thea says, “You better get going!” 

Oliver pulls a compliant Laurel quickly down the hallway exiting the building. 

Thea turns back to Tommy who sits quietly the gun placed on the floor by his feet.  The cops burst in led by Detective Lance.  “There you guys are!”  She exclaims.

Tommy raises his hands slowly, as the cops survey the crime scene.  Tommy looks at Lance saying, “I did it.  I killed my father.”

“What happened, Tommy?  Why’d you do it?”  Lance asks turning Tommy and pulling his arms behind his back, cuffing him.

As he turns Tommy to face him again, Tommy answers softly, “He killed Sara.”  The blood drains from Lance’s face.  He looks again at Malcolm’s body and Tommy can see the wheels turning.  Lance knows something doesn’t add up here.  He stares at Tommy, but just pushes him toward his partner saying, “Let’s get him back to the precinct.”

Oliver can see the flashing lights of the cop cars on one end of the dark alley near the club entrance as he and Laurel briskly exit Verdant.  Felicity sits in a gleaming black sedan, engine already running.  He pushes Laurel into the back seat and she slumps over, a hand shielding her eyes, silent tears falling on her cheeks.  Oliver gets in the passenger side, and Felicity quickly shifts the gear edging out of the alley and turning into the busy street.  Without turning her head, Felicity asks, “now what?”

Oliver answers grimly, “Now we get Laurel somewhere safe.”


	6. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka the chapter that earns this work its M rating.

The street lamp throws a hazy yellow glow onto the slick dark pavement, one tiny glow in a vast sea of darkness.  The rain beats a steady drizzle, and Oliver raises the collar on his raincoat trying to keep the biting wind from nipping at his neck.  He walks down the steps of the rooming house and pauses at the bottom to light a cigarette, cupping the flame close to his face, the light momentarily bringing his features into relief.  He glances around at the abandoned street, quiet and watchful at this time of night.  The sole car parked a few feet away is his or rather Thea’s and he can see the shadowy outline of Felicity’s form waiting in the passenger seat.

He had hesitated to leave her in the car alone, but felt a measure of safety to know she was sitting there with the heavy weight of his gun on her lap.  Across the street, a figure breaks away from the shadowy outline of the apartment building, a man notable in his height and massive shape. Oliver crosses the street and approaching him murmurs a quiet, “Thanks for coming,” in greeting.

“Got to admit, I’m intrigued by the secrecy.  But I appreciate the work.”  The man replies, an assured grin on his face.

“I just need someone to watch the place, make sure nothing suspicious happens.”  Oliver replies.

The man smirks in response, “Nothing suspicious; you mean like a black man loitering on the street in the middle of the night?”  

Oliver smiles slightly, “If I didn’t think you could handle it, I wouldn’t have asked, John.”  Oliver hesitates slightly anyway, adding, “But try to keep out of trouble.  And call me if you need to leave.”

John nods, leaning against the outline of the building which engulfs him in shadow again, he says, “Don’t worry, I know how to be invisible.”  Oliver can’t help but notice the slight edge of his tone.

“I’ll be back in the morning.”  Oliver says and tips his hat, turning to head back toward his parked car.  He opens the driver side door and slides in, turns the ignition.  The car engine roars to life, the sound deafening to his ears, he wonders how anyone can possibly sleep through it.  But, the street remains dark and its occupants quiet.  

As he pulls away, Felicity says quietly, her voice subdued, “Is she gonna be okay tonight?”

Oliver keeps his eyes on the road, “Laurel?  She’ll be fine.  I gave her a little something to knock her out and calm her nerves.  Besides, Nyssa is there to watch over her.”

“Do you really think she’d be in danger if she was at home?”

Oliver shakes his head thoughtfully, “I’m not sure.  No one would think to look for her here.  She never even met Nyssa before tonight.”

Felicity interrupts him, “I mean Malcolm is dead, wasn’t he the threat?”

“I don’t know if anyone else knew about Laurel’s secret.  Or maybe one of his shady business associates might want to go after the family because they’re afraid their interests will be exposed now.  Or maybe they just want to strike when the family’s weak, carve up Merlyn’s territory, before someone else does.” Oliver sighs heavily, “I’m probably being overly cautious.”

The car settles into silence as they both percolate over that thought.  Felicity glances at a passing street sign and then gazes over at Oliver.  “Who was that man you were talking to on the street?”

Oliver smiles, “John Diggle. He’s an old acquaintance of mine, helped me on a case when I was just starting out.  Sometimes, I hire him to do small jobs.  He’s gonna keep an eye on the building tonight for me.”

“You must trust him a great deal,” remarks Felicity.

Oliver nods, adding with conviction, “I’d trust him with my life.”

Felicity arches an eyebrow, “That sounds like a story.”

Oliver glances at her quickly, “He’s a good man.”

Felicity nods in reply, saying softly, “I’d like to meet him someday.”

* * *

 

Oliver opens the door to his apartment, quickly flipping the light switch on a small table lamp nearby. The apartment is spare but clean, a few dirty dishes in the sink.  There are no personal touches, just a shabby comfortable couch, a small coffee table with newspapers and books.  Felicity stands in the doorway and surveys the scene.

“This looks about right,” she deadpans and Oliver has the grace to be embarrassed.

He clears his throat, “It’s not much to look at.”  He looks around the barren room, suddenly seeing how sterile and sad it must seem to another person.  

She smiles gently, “It’s fine, really.  I always wondered where you lived, or rather how you lived.  I just never thought I’d see the inside of your place…”  Felicity trails off, “I thought you were going to take me home.”

Oliver jumps in the breach, “I know.  I just think you’ll be safer here…with me.”

Felicity fixes him with an amused stare.  “I figured when we passed the street for my place without turning that was your plan.”

“Everyone saw us together tonight…I’d sleep a lot better knowing you were nearby where I can keep an eye on you.”  He knows how it sounds, the minute the words come out of his mouth.  It sounds like the lamest of lines, get the pretty girl up to your apartment.  He casts his eyes around the room trying and discarding the words he’s trying to formulate. He just doesn’t know how to reassure her that he means to be a gentleman.

Felicity laughs a little, “Oliver.”  She tilts her head at him, catching his eye.  “I understand.  I told you earlier, I trust you.”

Oliver relaxes, letting out a small sigh of relief, her words reminding him of their kiss earlier. She may trust him, but when it comes to her, he’s not sure he can trust himself.  She can say that after he kissed her in the club, touched her the way he did; she’s made of more resilient stuff than him.

“About earlier…” Oliver starts hesitantly, not sure how to best broach the awkwardness of addressing his ruse to get her gun.

“You mean when you had your hand up my skirt?” Felicity says quickly.  Oliver looks at her in alarm, but she’s grinning at him, “At least buy a girl dinner first!”  She quips.

Oliver smiles at her, accepting the ribbing.  Once again marveling at her ability to put him at ease, “Dinner, huh?”  He asks uncertainly, “Would you…like that?”

“I would.” She affirms without hesitation.

“I’d still like to apologize.  I’m not normally so forward; I let the kiss get out of hand…”   Oliver finishes the sentence awkwardly, fumbling over his words.

“So did I.”  She says looking down at the floor for a moment, a spot of pink blooming on her cheeks.

She looks so lovely standing there, like a flower brightening up this drab room.  She’d been so strong and brave tonight.  Most women wouldn’t have handled everything as well as she managed to and keep her sensible humor.  He was glad she wasn’t in the room when Laurel shot Malcolm. Even though the danger had passed, the thought of something happening to her made his stomach clench, his throat constrict with panic.  If she had been shot…Oliver swallows trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat.

He looks at her sharply. He didn’t know what he would do if something had happened to her.  If she had gotten hurt, shot, if he had lost her…

Oliver feels sick, both angry but also a gut-wrenching fear all at once.  What was this?  He wasn’t conscious of crossing the room, but he did.  

Oliver pulls Felicity into his arms saying urgently, “If something happened to you…I’d--” but he doesn’t finish the thought, instead he fiercely kisses her, his mouth hard and unyielding on hers.

She seems to have anticipated him because she simply wraps her arms around his neck, pitching forward on the tips of her toes, and letting her head fall backward slightly, her eyes shut, and her mouth opening to his.

He pours his fear into his kiss, pours his overwhelming emotion into her, slanting his mouth over hers, sliding his tongue into her warm mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he explores her mouth with his.  His hands sliding from her arms to encircle her waist, Oliver pulls her fully against his length.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulls away, resting his mouth on her forehead, the pair of them panting softly from their exertions.  For the moment, he ignores the insistence hardness of his arousal.  

Finally, Oliver finds his voice, “I know I should apologize again for kissing you, but I’m not sorry.”

“Good.”  She replies with a smile.  “I’m not sorry either.”

He looks at her in wonder, “I’m not really sure when it started, I guess I got used to having you there and before I knew it, I couldn’t imagine you not there.  You’re this smart, beautiful, incredible woman and I can’t see my life without you…I’m crazy about you.  I can hardly believe it but, I’m in love with you.”

Felicity grins at Oliver, murmuring, “You know, Oliver, for a detective, you sure are slow as molasses piecing together the clues right in front of you.  Why do you think I’m still here, the salary?”  Felicity laughs lightly, shaking her head, “I was done for the first time I laid eyes on you.”  Felicity reaches her arms around Oliver hugging him, leaning back to look up into his face, “I love you too, you big sap.”  

“I thought I’d given up on love a long time ago,” Oliver replies bashfully.  “It’s hard to believe in it when you spend every night watching couple after couple’s relationships fall apart.  I guess I just figured it was something that happened to other people.”

“I thought the same thing, and then I met you.”  Felicity replied gently, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.  Oliver kisses the top of her head gently, his arms still wrapped around her.  

Lightness bubbling up from the depths of his soul suffuses him with joy.  It had been so long since he felt it; it was strange and marvelous at the same time.  He pulls back from her, cupping her face with his hands, looking down at her lovingly, he asks, “Do you want me to take you back to your place, I mean I will if you think you’d rather not—“  Felicity closes the gap between them with her mouth, quieting him.

It’s as if a flip has been switched in him, his desire and need for her roaring back to life within him. She is of the same mind because she clings to him fiercely, kissing him back fervently as their kiss deepens becoming wilder, hotter, and wetter.

They pull at each others clothes as they walk into his bedroom, not wanting to pause for a moment from tasting each other, his jacket and her cocktail dress sliding down to the floor along with his bow tie which had been lying around his neck already loosely undone much earlier in the evening.  Oliver leans down lifting her in his arms, his hands beneath her bottom, and slowly lowers her gently to the bed.

She lays relaxed on the bed her blonde hair fanned out around her, one stocking clad leg straight, her foot braced flat against his chest while the other leg rests on the bed.  He places his hands over the foot on his chest, pressing the top of it against him.  He looks down at her enjoying the sight of her laying before him all creamy skin, her lips swollen from their kisses, her eyes sparkling up at him, waiting in anticipation.  

He slides his hands up her legs leaning slightly forward, forcing her to bend her knees as his hands travel smoothly up past her knees to her thighs to the clips that bind her garter to her stockings.  With a quick flick, he undoes the clips and she bites her lips softly, her breath sucking in at the movement.  He pushes her leg to the side, letting them fall open and he leans down further kissing the spot where the clip had just been fastened, gratified to hear her shakily exhale in response, her leg twitching slightly under the rough contact of his beard.  He moves his mouth slightly higher almost to the juncture of her thighs, lightly flicking his tongue against the skin, making her squirm before placing his mouth on the heated skin softly sucking the spot into his mouth before pulling away.

Oliver places a knee on the bed, bracing himself for balance, and places his hands on either side of her hips, he leans forward once more, placing his mouth at the meeting of her thighs, kissing her where her slit would be if it wasn’t covered by her panties, feeling the dampness against his mouth.  As he does, he can hear Felicity’s hum in response, her fingers floating down to his head, furrowing through his hair, holding him to her, she bucks beneath him, arching upward, pressing against his mouth.

And he nearly comes undone.

Using his hands he pushes her back down, glancing up at her with a mischievous smile, shaking his head no at her.  Not yet. He turns to her other leg trailing hot kisses down her thigh, quickly unhooking the garter on the other leg. He straightens again, sliding the silky sheer fabric off her legs, while the ends of the garters fall to the side of her thighs.

With that pesky fabric out of the way, Oliver lifts her up, hooking his fingers into the band of her panties and pulls them off her.  Another time he would have taken a moment to admire her, almost naked beneath him, but he needs to taste her too urgently.  So he simply hooks her legs over his shoulders and leans down to give her sensitive folds a long rough lick.  Felicity cries out, her legs tightening against his head, her hand clutching at his head as he dips down unrelentingly, feasting on her with single-minded focus until he feels her shuddering against him, moaning deeply.

But, he’s just getting started.

Oliver leans forward again this time placing a soft kiss on the flat plains of her stomach.  The skin jumps beneath his mouth and Felicity sighs loudly tossing a little side to side, her hands trying to pull him forward. He lets her guide him up, trailing his lips up her abdomen, flicking his tongue on her heated skin.  

He pulls a bra cup down, exposing one breast, the cold air instantly puckering the nipple.  He swoops down, capturing the tip in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the erect nub, sucking lightly.  Felicity arches again, groaning softly, she whispers, “don’t stop.”  He has absolutely no intention of stopping.

He slides an arm behind her so he can pull her even closer, licking the skin above the breast, and also taking the opportunity to unhook her bra.  She sits up letting the bra fall away from her, her hair cascading down around her shoulders like golden fluff.  Her eyes are lidded and her pupils are blown with desire and she leans forward pulling him towards her, seeking his mouth on hers.  While her fingers scramble against his shirt, pulling at the buttons.  He helps her undo the buttons and remove the remainder of his clothes, wanting as much as she does the contact of her skin against his.

Finally, they fly together in a tight embrace kissing furiously, their hands exploring each other; her hands skimming his chest, his shoulders and his back.  His hands gliding down to knead her fleshy bottom, then sliding his fingers between her legs to stroke her, skirting the fabric to caress her wet folds.

She gasps when he slips a finger inside her, leaning heavily into him, her head lolling back her eyes closing from the pleasure of it.

He needs her, to be inside her and as if she read his mind, she sighs against his ear, “I want you inside me.”

It’s all the invitation he needs.

He leans over her, her legs splaying open on either side of him.  He pulls her legs up, hooking them around his waist and slowly slides inside her.  He leans on his forearms not wanting to crush her with his mass and starts to press forward, each time sliding delightfully deeper.  Each withdrawal a crushing loss, each return setting off a series of explosive bursts of pleasure rippling deep inside him.  He seeks her mouth, kissing her intently, sliding his tongue inside her in time with his hips.  The sensation of the wet warmth of her velvet mouth corresponds to the feel of being inside her pulling his consciousness from him.  Her breath is soft and warm on his cheek, her quiet low moans becoming more urgent, more insistent as they both ascend as if in a drugged haze of ecstasy.

Their movements are flashes of sensation, his fingers curled around her fingers, the salty sweet taste of her sweat when he kisses her neck.  Her fingernails gently scratching his back as her fingers dig into his skin. The pout of her lips as she takes his thumb deep into her mouth sucking the digit in, her tongue gliding over the contours of his finger making his stomach clench and a gasp of delight escape from his mouth from the sheer carnal decadence of it.  

In tacit agreement, they begin to move faster and more frantically, Oliver hooking his legs around hers, driving even deeper and faster inside her, her groans becoming louder until finally he flicks his fingers between them sending her over the edge. She shudders silently her walls clenching and releasing tightly against him in excruciating heady pleasure and then he’s coming too, racing and coursing through him, like a million sparks shooting through every nerve ending cresting over and over him.  Oliver buries his face into Felicity’s neck dimly aware of his own moans, issuing from a long dark tunnel far below where his body is floating.

Sleep pulls them under and they curl together in a cocoon of warm blankets, his legs entwined with hers while the sheets snake around them binding them together on the bed.


	7. The End and the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the conclusion to the story - I hope you liked it. It was fun, if challenging, to write a genre piece and also my first multi-chapter, so thanks for following along!

Oliver’s eyes shot open at the jarring sound of the telephone ringing.  He grabbed for it before it woke up Felicity.  “Yeah,” he croaked into the receiver.

“It’s Lance.  Did I wake you?”

“It’s fine.”  Oliver sat up in the bed keeping his voice low, “what can I do for you?”

“Can you swing by the precinct?  I want to ask you a few questions and Tommy asked to see you before he gets transferred to the county jail.”

“Sure I can be there in twenty minutes.”  

It took all his willpower to drag himself from the warm safety of their island of blankets into the frigid morning air.  Placing a soft kiss on Felicity’s elbow and smiling when she simply grunted sleepily into her pillow.  He quickly dressed and then neatly folded and draped her clothes over a nearby chair so that she would see it when she woke up.  He had a pathetic lack of food in the house so he placed an apple on the bedside table with a quick note underneath explaining where he went.

Glancing over to the bed before he shut the door to the apartment, Felicity still slept, her face obscured by a veil of blonde curls.  The white sheet was wound tight around her midsection, only her arms and shoulder and a long creamy leg exposed to the cold morning air.

* * *

 

Oliver thought over the events of the night while driving to the police precinct.  He hoped that she would understand why he wasn’t there to awaken her with kisses and touches the way he would’ve have wanted to after their first time.  But, time was of the essence and he needed to take care of business.

The city was just waking up, the cold grey light of early dawn was starting to brighten the sky, and the morning dew had blanketed the ground with a glassy sheen reflecting the street lamps that had not yet turned off.  The streets were almost entirely deserted, except for the occasional car or delivery truck just beginning the daily work.

Lance greeted him as soon as he walked into the precinct.  “Queen, come with me.”

“Did you sleep in your clothes, you look like hell” Oliver replied with a smirk, following Lance through the maze of desks towards a long hallway of doors.

“Regular comedian,” Lance replied his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

He opened one of the doors to an interrogation room.  It was empty only two metal chairs and a worn desk between them.  Lance waved a hand at a metal chair and Oliver sat down.  But, Lance didn’t follow suit, instead casually leaning against the opposite wall.

“How’s Laurel?”  Lance asked seriously.

“Safe,” replied Oliver.

Lance turned that over in his mind.  Oliver could see his wheels turning trying to decide whether to pursue the line of questioning, but he seems to drop it simply giving Oliver a quick affirmative nod.

“Maybe you could clear up a few things for me.” Quentin continued.

Oliver raises an eyebrow, saying drily, “I’ll try.”

“Tommy confessed to murdering his dad.  He said he did it because Malcolm killed Sara.”

“Is that a question?”  Oliver asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Why?  Why would Malcolm Merlyn kill Sara?”

Oliver hedged, “What did Tommy say?” 

“He said Sara saw Merlyn kill a customs inspector, Malcolm found out and killed her.  Tommy said he confronted him and Merlyn pulled a gun.  They fought over it and Tommy got the gun and shot him.”

“There you go.”

“It doesn’t add up.”  Quentin pursed his lips, doggedly staring at Oliver.

“Sure it does.”  Oliver replied smoothly.

“I’ve been a detective for a long time.  Some people might even say I’m a pretty good one.  You don’t work this beat as long as I have without getting to know when things don’t smell right.  And this story, Tommy is feeding me, stinks.”  Lance sits down, leaning forward intently, “I want the truth, Queen.  Laurel’s husbands about to get sent up river, and somehow, you are mixed up in this business.  I think I deserve the truth.  Sara is dead.”  Lance’s voice catches and he clears it, continuing with clenched teeth, “You owe me that.”

Oliver sighs in resignation.  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.  All you have to do is just listen while I tell you a story.  See I’ve got this buddy who works the beat down by the docks.  He and his partner were developing this customs official as a CI.  They got him on a bribery charge and he starts singing like a canary talking about this guy—some big shot businessman who’s not as legit as people think.  See most of this swell’s money comes from his off-book activities.  He heads up a criminal syndicate bringing gambling, guns, and drugs into the city through the docks.  And this CI he knows because he’s been the one looking the other way and getting rich doing it.  So my buddy says you get some proof and maybe we can make it so you don’t get any jail time as long as you can turn state’s witness on this big fish.”  Lance leans back in his chair folding his arms, his eyes narrowing, “Guess what happens next?”  Lance continues not expecting an answer, “They’re fishing this guy out of the Star City bay the next night.  Poof, six months of investigative work gone. “

Lance purses his lips and eyes Oliver, “I think that big fish was Malcolm Merlyn.  But, Sara and Merlyn barely knew each other, and she’s not the type to be hanging around Merlyn Global or the docks at night for that matter.  But, Laurel, Laurel might come and go visiting Tommy.  Maybe Laurel is the one who saw that murder go down.  How am I doing?”

“I think you’re on to something.”  Oliver says grimly.

“And maybe Laurel told Sara what she saw.  But, what I can’t figure out is how Merlyn found out.”

“Maybe Sara used that info to try to get Laurel away from that family.”

Lance nods, that piece of the puzzle fits for him, he adds angrily, “And Malcolm killed her like Tommy said and tried to make it look like those other murders.” 

Oliver nods grimly.  Lance looks as if he might break from the tension, and a long moment of silence descends on the room while he grapples with it.  Finally, Lance lets out a shaky breath and continues, “What were you doing there last night?”

“Laurel asked me to look into Sara going missing and then when she turned up—well I kept looking into it.  I thought I was going to get information about Merlyn’s criminal dealings, but I got a hunch and I bluffed my way into a confrontation.  He spilled his guts, wasn’t even sorry.”

“And what about Tommy and Laurel, how do they figure?”

“Tommy knew what his dad was mixed up in some shady business, knew Laurel wanted out.  But Merlyn, he figured out it was Laurel not Sara who saw something and he wasn’t going to let her be a loose thread that could unravel everything, especially with her…drinking.”  Oliver rubs his eyes tiredly, “He and Tommy did wrestle over a gun, and Tommy got it.  Tommy was upset and threatening to kill him, but I don’t think he would have done it.  But then Laurel—“

Lance raises his hand to silence Oliver.  “I see.”

“Tommy loves Laurel and he would do anything for her.”  Oliver finishes.

There’s a short rap on the door and Lance stands up, “The way I heard it, Malcolm was the one threatening everyone with a gun.  He and Tommy wrestled for it and the gun went off.  Sounds like self-defense to me.  It was an accident.  Tommy tried to save everyone, seems heroic, don’t you think?” 

Oliver looks at Lance in surprise.  Is Lance saying what he thinks he is?  Lance always struck him as a straight arrow, not the type to bend the rules, and definitely not the type to swing a case to change the outcome.  But, here he was as good as saying the cops were going to throw a lot of reasonable doubt Tommy Merlyn’s way.

Lance walks over to the door, pausing before opening it, “I think the Judge might think so too.  I’d be surprised if he didn’t knock the charges down to involuntary manslaughter and with good behavior, Tommy could be out in 5 years.”

Lance opens the door.  Tommy stands handcuffed, a policeman standing beside him.  He looks like he’s aged ten years, his unshaven face is drawn.  Lance sits Tommy down in the chair opposite Oliver saying, “You got 5 minutes.”  Lance and the police office leave the two men alone.

A shadow of a smile crosses Tommy’s face as he looks over at Oliver with a steady gaze, “How’s Laurel?”

“She’s being watched over.”

Tommy nods, murmuring, “Good.”  He seems unnaturally calm.  “I need a favor.”

* * *

 

Oliver pulled up to Nyssa’s apartment building, gliding to a stop.  He could see hunched against the building the still form of John Diggle, his trench tied tight around him, his hat slung low and his chin tucked down close to his neck.  Oliver hands him a thermos, Diggle gratefully accepts it, opening it with his frozen fingers and gulping down the hot coffee inside.

Oliver waits patiently, giving the man a minute to enjoy his warm drink, saying quietly, “Any trouble?”

Diggle swallows another gulp of coffee and shakes his head, “No.  All quiet.”

“Good.”  Oliver reaches into his coat and pulls out a sealed envelope handing it over to Diggle.  “Thanks for the help.”

“Like I said, I need the work.  Actually, I really need some more permanent work; I got a kid on the way.”

Oliver eyes Diggle, smiling, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“You know I could use someone like you.  Someone with your talents and I seem to remember we made a good pretty good team last time.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”  Diggle replies with a smirk.

“All right, go to my office.  Talk to my gal.”

Diggle raises an eyebrow at ‘my gal,’ “What about the brunette?”

“I’ll take care of her.”  The men shake hands and Diggle hurries off down the street as Oliver crosses the road and heads inside.

* * *

 

Oliver pulls up to the Star City Train Station, travelers bustle around them.  Laurel looks at him in confusion, “What are we doing here?  I thought we were going to see Tommy.”

Oliver shakes his head and says quietly, “He doesn’t want to see you.”

Laurel narrows her eyes, “You don’t know that.  I’m his wife; of course he wants to see me!”

Oliver shakes his head again.  “He asked me to bring you here and get you a one-way ticket out of town.”

Laurel’s eyes widen in panic and her voice shakes, “I don’t believe you!  I’m not going anywhere, Ollie.  I want to see Tommy.”

“There’s nothing you can do for him, Laurel.  He wants you to be safe.  He wants you to have a chance, for a new life.”

“But—“ Laurel gulps air, “He’ll be alone!  He’s in there because of me, I can’t just abandon him.  I won’t!  I-I love him.”  Laurel looks down, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.  “I wasted so much time, living in the past, thinking I was missing out.  But, I finally realized that, it was him.  This whole time, it was him that I loved but I was a damn fool.  And now—“She swallows hard on a sob, “I can’t make up for things, Sara’s…dead, but Tommy I can still be there for him.”

Oliver says sympathetically, “Sara and Tommy both wanted the same thing, for you to get clean, start over, and be happy.”

Laurel looks up at him, distraught, tears streaking down her cheeks, “But, what if I can’t?  I haven’t had a drink in 12 hours and my hands are shaking so hard, I couldn’t even hold a pen.  I’m not worth it!  What if I fail?  What if…what if they sacrificed themselves for nothing?”

“Then don’t.  Don’t fail.”  Oliver says sternly, and then softens a little, “You can do it, Laurel.  Do it for them.”   

“I don’t know if I can.  I’m scared,” Laurel whispers.   Laurel looks down again, crying.  She takes a few fortifying breaths calming herself down.  “Thank you, Ollie,” she says quietly, “for everything.”

* * *

 

When Oliver walks back through the office doors he doesn’t see Felicity at her desk, but as soon as he crosses the outer sitting area and enters his office, he’s gratified to see her leaning over his desk, placing a file down.

“Hi.”  Oliver says a smile playing around his mouth.

“Hello.”  She responds casually.  “Thanks for the apple,” she adds archly, turning to look at him, she adds a little warily, “How’s Laurel?”  Oliver hears the edge in her voice.

He counters breezily, “On a train, halfway to Central City by now.”

Felicity raises her eyebrows in surprise.  “Really?  How did that happen?”

“First things first.”  Oliver says crossing the room and pulling her into a deep kiss.  She lets him, melting into him.  When they finally break apart, he looks down at her smiling wryly, “I wanted to do that this morning.”

“That would have been nice.”  She says companionably if not slightly accusatory.

“I went to see Lance and Tommy.  He’s the one that wanted me to get Laurel out of town.  I’m sorry, but I needed to take care of things.”

Felicity nods accepting it without comment, “I saw your friend Mr. Diggle.  I like him.”

“He’s going to be joining the team.”

“Good.  What about Tommy?”

“Looks like things are looking up for him, cops think it was self-defense.”  Oliver replies, feeling quite satisfied to continue having this conversation with his arms wrapped loosely around her.

“Well, that’s convenient.”  Felicity says in wonderment, shaking her head.

“Isn’t it just” Oliver agrees.

Felicity sways a little towards Oliver, “So all the loose ends are tied up nice and neat.  Sara’s murder is solved. So what’s next?”  She tips her head to the side adding flirtatiously, “Back to our diet of adulterous spouses?”

Oliver smiles down at her for a moment, enjoying the sight of her face tipped up to his.  He shakes his head, “No.”  His smile fading, “There’s still a killer out there in Star City carving up starlets.  I think we should look into that.”

Felicity nods, “Let’s get to work.”


End file.
